


The Mair-rigolauya

by oboe_dawn



Series: Celluloid Vokaya [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: A'dun, A'duna, AnthroVision Defense League (AVDL), Anthropology, Artifact Hunters, Artifacts of Malice, Belon, Belonite, Bioarchaeology, Empath, Film making, First Time, Hyper-Empathy, Instrumental Music, Kennuk Meld, Life-support meld, M/M, Mathematics of Music, Multi, NCC-1701, Neuropsionics, Pre-Reform Vulcan, Psionic Sex, Psionic Training, Psionics, ShiKhar, Space Medicine, Starfleet, T'Kehr (Teacher), T'hy'la, Telepathic Group Meld, Telepathy, USS Enterprise - Freeform, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Diplomatic Corps, Vulcan Kisses, Vulcan Language, Vulcan Marriage, Vulcan Mind Melds, Vulcan history, Vulcanid, forensic science, ralash-t'mu-yor (night music), refraction syndrome, tavalik duv-tor, ulidar t'kafeh (mark of slavery/slave tattoo), yemtra vokaya (memory bolus)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 158
Words: 404,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oboe_dawn/pseuds/oboe_dawn
Summary: Can a person from Spock's past help captain and first officer become more than friends?When the Enterprise's first officer recruits childhood acquaintance, Tralnor, as a partner in completing a dangerous covert task assigned by T'Pau, nothing is easy. Vulcan's shadowy past still has teeth, and the onus is on Spock to stop a piece of history from taking a bite out of the present.Jim Kirk, convinced he's still got time to ask Spock to be his lover, starts to fray at the edges, nearly sinking their relationship, after he catches wind of a very special woman in Spock's life. What Kirk does not know is just how much Spock wants to stay at the captain's side as a friend plus a lot more.Will Kirk and Spock overcome their inability to express their true feelings toward one another? Is it going to take meddling friends and crewmates to push them together? What is T'Pau so desperate to find? And, who or what exactly is Mollie?This is the first entry in the seriesCelluloid Vokaya.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Other(s), James T. Kirk/Spock, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Spock/Other(s)
Series: Celluloid Vokaya [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597444
Comments: 52
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings readers new and old. Slowly but surely, The Mair-rigolauya is going up over here as an additional backup to my own files in the wake of the K/S Archive's recent hardware malfunction. This is something I probably should have done a year ago, but better late than never, right?
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and coming along with me on this adventure.

Author’s Notes: There is fairly frequent use of the Vulcan language throughout this novel where the translations are almost always given in context or within the text. The Vulcan Language Dictionary is where I pluck most of this vocabulary from, though I’ve also had to come up with words I’ve needed on my own. Any mistakes are entirely on me. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I’ve had a blast writing it. My most sincere thanks. —oboe_dawn

“I’m telling you, Avery, girls think Academy grads are studs and us ROTC guys are schlubs.” Lt. Vince Biltmore continued on from an earlier conversation.  


“We’ve still got the same commissions.” Avery countered. “Think about how many Academy ring-bangers you and I beat out to be assigned to the Enterprise. That should tell you all you need to know.”

Biltmore shook his head. Leave it to Avery to come off sounding so practical. “You must have a hard time getting laid.” 

“I do just fine, thank you.” He said. 

Avery and Biltmore moved over to their right as a larger party approached in the corridor. Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Dr. McCoy, and a fourth man passed by, engrossed in their own conversation. Avery stopped.

“What the hell?” Biltmore thudded into his friend. “It’s not like you to be star-struck. It’s just the Captain and part of his command team.” 

Avery waved him back. “That’s strange.”

A middle-aged crewman walked past and barely contained an eye-roll at the two young officers. 

“What?” Biltmore looked up and down the corridor. 

“I swear, that I just saw my high school band teacher.” Avery turned around. “Or someone who looks just like him.” 

“With the Captain?”

“That can’t be him.”

“Then it’s not. Let’s go and hit the mess before all the good stuff is gone and we’re stuck with all the leftovers.” Biltmore made a move to continue on their original heading only to find himself chasing after Avery. 

“Dr. Tralnor!” Avery called. 

Biltmore ran into Avery again. Ready to chew his friend out and forcibly drag him to lunch, he felt his knees gelatinize as the foursome reversed course. Whoever Avery thought he’d seen, there was no possible way the second Vulcan in the group, also decked out in Science blues, was a high school teacher from central California. 

“What the hell are you doing here—Sir?” Avery was, for lack of a better term, agog. 

_You are so screwed, amigo _, Biltmore thought, _and you’ve dragged me into this _. Avery and the Vulcan stood face-to-face, regarding each other in some manner Biltmore couldn’t identify, and only chirping crickets could have made the exchange more odd than it already was.  
____

_____ _

___“Repenting for a youthful indiscretion.” The Vulcan replied as he held out his right hand.  
_ _ _

Biltmore nearly screamed as Avery dared to touch this man. His brain shouted: _Avery! You’re not supposed to do that _! Dr. McCoy’s face echoed the young Lieutenant’s thoughts.  
__

“Gentlemen,” the Vulcan said, “this is Alton Michele Avery, one of my former students: Three years All- State trombone, marching percussion, and a graduate of the mechanical engineering program at Cornell University.”  


Avery gave a slight nod, his line of sight transfixed on his former instructor’s head. “Sarah David is on board too. She’s in medical microbiology and will be over the moon to know you’re here.”  


The Vulcan looked up into his own hairline before saying, “Starfleet thinks we are all the same.”  


“That’s ridiculous.” Incensed, Avery went on. “They should have given you a Cultural Practices Exemption for that part of the dress code. You’re T’Kehr Temple Ko-tek’ru Kaylara t’Lyr Saan, which unlike the strictly Suriakian clans, means you wear your hair long so that you have something of yourself to offer when you enter consecrated spaces.”  


Commander Spock picked up the description as Kirk, McCoy, and Biltmore were mystified at Avery’s description. “Lt. Commander Tralnor, unceremoniously shorn by Starfleet barbers, must wait until his hair grows out and he is ritualistically reaccepted into the temple. Small amounts of hair are snipped and placed into the fire pot at the foot of the Memorial Wall. It signifies that one is willing to make a sacrifice for the salvation of the clan in the face of what once was never-ending war.”  


“Must smell delightful.” McCoy quipped.  


“Dr. Tralnor, how long are you here?” Avery finally broke his gaze.  


“My orders are for six months. I shall catch up with you and Sarah later.”  


Avery smiled, flattered and excited that his old teacher would deign to spend time with him. “Great. This is amazing.”  


The command staff regrouped and went back on their way to whatever corner of the ship, leaving Biltmore and Avery taking up space in the corridor.  


“Did we just step into an alternate universe? How is an emotionless, formerly long-haired, science officer your old band director? This doesn’t make sense. And how do you know so much about Vulcans?” Biltmore gave a slight shake to try and right his mind. “Avery?”  


“I wonder what Dr. Tralnor meant by ‘youthful indiscretion’?”  


  


  


“When Spock requested we bring you on, I didn’t ask any questions because I trust his decisions regarding personnel implicitly," Kirk said.  


They’d eventually landed in a small conference room that offered a view of the stars as the ship streaked through on impulse power. Tralnor read between the lines of what the Captain was saying. “I honestly don’t know what I can possibly bring to Spock’s outstanding science department. I have a background in acoustical physics and how performance spaces compliment or hinder instrumental ensembles. I work with students from ninth grade to Ph.D. level.”  


“I’m sure he’s got something figured out for you.” Kirk gave an appreciative glance toward his first officer.  


Tralnor didn’t have to be a psion to interpret the not-so-subtle longing in the captain’s eyes. The involuntary empathic circuits in Tralnor’s brain sought out and absorbed the explosion of unrequited longing between the human captain and the Vulcan first officer. Kirk’s need was encompassing, warm, and wanted to draw Spock in, wrapping him in a blanket to protect against the cold, cruel universe. Spock, forever trapped in the hybrid’s dilemma of never being enough of any one thing to please those around him, wanted Kirk to want him on the grounds of merely being himself. These brilliant flashes of emotion and tumult abruptly terminated at McCoy’s interruption.  


“I was reviewing your medical records, and your psionic abilities are practically off the charts.” McCoy was a cloud of bantering wit and medical fact buzzing and blending into neat flow charts of information frosted with trace amounts of sarcasm and genteel southern bedside manner.  


“They are, yes.” Tralnor didn’t want to get into the specifics of his various mental oddities. Rather, he needed to figure out his quarters and get his luggage rounded up. The civilian transport line he’d taken for part of his trip to catch up with the Enterprise lost one of his cases. Starfleet supposedly tracked it down. He’d believe it when he saw all three cases lined up on his bunk.  


“Now, I keep coming across this term, _hyper-empath _. This old country doctor doesn’t really know what that means in context.” The doctor projected good, old human curiosity, something Tralnor could identify with. McCoy let loose with a slight grin.  
__

“Are you prepared for a history lesson on pre-Reform Vulcans, namely Clan Lyr Saan?” He hadn’t been aboard for two hours, and he was making the two humans in the room nervous. Tralnor, while outwardly exhibiting the stereotypical stoic behavior Vulcans are famed for, was different enough from their baseline to warrant a scattering of suspicion.  


Two nodding heads prompted the story. Tralnor wanted to ask Spock if it was too late to bail on this assignment but started to speak. “The Lyr Saan were a slave race created by the Golic clans via a combination of genetic engineering and gene splicing. We were designed to be even-tempered and subservient. Our overdeveloped psionic abilities made us near-perfect spies.”  


“And weapons.” Spock added.  


“We were horrifying weapons, assassins, kae’at knal’lursu (mind-rapists), rum nem-torsu (dream stealers), duv’torsu (shadows), kae’at knal’lursu (telepathic eavesdroppers). . .” Tralnor trailed off to let the descriptions set in. “We could indescriminantly destroy people’s minds, administering the eschak on our masters’ orders. Undoubtedly, the most valuable of all of us were the mair-rigolauya, hyper-empaths.”  


Spock remained the only one of the three Enterprise men who did not want to flee. “Hyper-empaths cannot avoid experiencing the emotions of every entity around them, some to the point they can read the psychic residue left on objects. There is a saying that the mair-rigolauya are the mirrors of our souls. And as Vulcans, they bare the burden of controlling their own emotions and not crumbling under the weight of others’.”  


“This is where things get, interesting, I suppose.” Tralnor saw the cogs grind in the humans’ brains. His speech patterns more closely mimicked those of the people he spent the majority of his time with: humans. That was, at this point, unnerving. “Warlords, generals, soldiers, criminals, those of the ilk most likely to succumb to catastrophic battle wounds discovered that as a last resort they could lock themselves in an isolated room with a hyper-empath who’s drugged up on ketro’nistin. With or without a healer’s aid, they’d forcefully meld with the compromised empath and shift the burden of their physical destruction to this other person. That is how most hyper-empaths died. Mair-rigolauya were hunted, stolen, and sold to save the lives of those who only wanted to drag out the wars.”  


Unsure if he should be repulsed or fascinated, McCoy asked, “Are all Lyr Saan hyper-empaths?”

“No.” Tralnor said. “Just the really unlucky ones.”  


“Now, as our resident hobgoblin delights in reminding me, there ain’t nothing logical about luck.” Jovial antagonism drifted off the doctor.  


Captain Kirk remained in his seat in anticipation of another verbal spar between his friends. Apparently, the entertainment value was endless and far exceeded any of the canned programming on the computers.  


“There was nothing logical about how the Lyr Saan were created.” Tralnor didn’t know how to say it any other way.  


“You mentioned even-tempered and subservient, it’s my understanding that pre-Reform Vulcans were anything but.” Kirk shifted, and Tralnor watched how his shoulders moved, how he held his hands at the table, and the way he held his face. He believed he could already see what Spock found compelling about this man.  


“It must have taken decades of selective breeding.” McCoy commented.  


“All of the first and part of the second generations were built in labs. They didn’t have living parents. Their DNA was an amalgamation of dominant desired traits.” Tralnor was hesitant to say the next part and sent a questioning glance at the first officer.  


“In order to secure the proper temperament,” Spock began, “additional DNA was sourced. That material did not come from Vulcan.”  


“Humans.” Tralnor said. “The Golic geneticists got what they wanted from humans the spacefaring slavers sometimes peddled.”  


McCoy’s jaw dropped. “That’s—I don’t want to say it’s not possible, but damn.”  


Kirk, more deliberately thoughtful, paused to reflect on Tralnor’s declaration. “I think I can see how that makes sense. The human DNA was introduced to make you docile and adaptive while the exaggerated Vulcan traits made you dangerous.”  


“Precisely, Captain.” Tralnor decided to continue the story. “Approximately five generations before the Reform, the Lyr Saan rebelled against their masters. They set out to become scholars as to teach people to break the cycles of vicious violence and war by thinking in a more rational and academic manner than succumbing to immediate emotional responses. We stress objectivity and the mastery of one’s emotions as a directional compass to aid in decision making. Our enemies saw to it that we were not allowed to become pacifists, that we spent a lot of our time and energy on defending our freedom and the existence we’d created for ourselves.”  


“They have, over time, evolved from battlefield bogeymen to disdained intelligentsia too out of touch with their Vulcan warrior roots, and while they have since adopted some of the Surakian philosophies, they are unique within modern society.”  


“And by unique, Spock means we’re still thought of as freaks and typically treated as such behind closed doors. The Lyr Saan are one of Vulcan’s dirty little secrets. Our abilities are still incredibly useful, and people want you when you’re useful, any other time though, we’re just kafelar sutoriksu (“synthetic” slaves), va’amaular t’ha-vel (mimics of living things), generally distrusted, and considered by many to simply be insane.”  


Boggled, McCoy didn’t like the way that sounded and was also the veteran of some of Vulcan’s other dirty little secrets. The doctor didn’t need to be a telepath to throw out the word _typical _regarding the logicians of 40 Eridani A. “Seems prejudicial to me.”  
__

Tralnor offered a short shrug. “It is what it is, Doctor.”

“I suppose that’s the attitude you’d have to take, dealing with these pointy-eared devils.”  


“Etek nam-to hi e’shuaiar sha’ferikan.” Tralnor spoke slowly. “Clan Lyr Saan’s motto: _We are but monsters of your own design _.”__  


Unwilling to let the room devolve into an uncomfortable for humans silence, McCoy shook his head. “Scathing, if I do say so myself. Now, back to this hyper-empathy thing, is this something me or my medical staff are gonna have to worry about?”  


“You shouldn’t.” Tralnor responded. He could never say for sure when and where those abilities might come into play and lead to a situation where he physically compromised himself in order to ensure someone else’s survival.  


Used to definitive answers from Vulcans, even Kirk struggled fully comprehend just what in all of hell Tralnor might mean when he used the word shouldn’t. He looked at Spock, hoping that man had an explanation, only to find nothing. “So long as your psionic abilities don’t compromise your fitness for duty, Lt. Commander Tralnor.”  


“They shouldn’t.” He used that open-to-interpretation word again.  


McCoy slipped into a crusty/glowering part of his mind where he most of his thinking regarding hard and/or stubborn patients like Kirk and Spock. “Look here—Doctor Tralnor—I expect that you report to sickbay immediately if you experience any issues with that noggin of yours.”  


Tralnor could not promise such a thing but was glad that the doctor dropped his rank and went with his academic honorific instead. A forced stint in Officer Candidate School did little to temper the slight rancor he felt every time someone looked at the braid and bits decorating his sleeves and called him Lt. Commander. “I will see what I can do.”  


McCoy’s expression soured, dumping out a wave of, _Fucking fantastic, I’ve got another one. Stubborn Vulcan bastards _. “Well, Gentlemen, its time for supper. I’ll see you all in the mess, especially you, Spock. And don’t even think about delivering me some line of crap about how you don’t need food or sleep because of your superior Vulcan physiology.”  
__

(He sounds like your mother, Spock.) Tralnor gave the slightest mental nudge on Spock’s shields before sending that statement into the first officer’s brain. Sometimes, being a full-blown telepath had its advantages.  


Spock let Tralnor establish the temporary speech link so their sub-rosa communication could continue without initiating a genuine meld. (There are times when I think Doctor McCoy and Lady Amanda corroborate in their constant efforts to “look after” my wellbeing.)  


Need/desire/desperation lapped over into Tralnor’s mind. Spock mentally recoiled, oozing self-deprecating shame at his feelings toward his captain. When, unlike other Vulcans, Tralnor did not express disgust at the un-acted upon love, the intensity of Spock's self-directed hate ratcheted down.  


(Is that one of the other reasons you wanted me here, Spock?)

(Yes. . .) The first officer barely got the word to form on the tip of his mind.  


“Come on, you two.” McCoy had Kirk waiting by the door. “Stand up, one foot in front of the other, to the mess hall. Consider those doctor’s orders.”  



	2. Chapter 2

The walk to the mess hall lacked any easy banter. Tralnor was attempting to gain his bearings as to make a working map of the ship in his head. Until nine days ago, he was slated to spend this six months as some overglorified desk jockey on Starbase 4. When Spock poached him for the Enterprise, Tralnor knew he was not ship-of-the-line material, not when the ink on his commission wasn’t dry yet. He didn’t know what to expect over the next half-year.

“I noticed your wedding ring.” McCoy, again desperate to relieve what he considered morose silence, pointed out. “What’s your missus think of you being out here?”

(Tralnor, do you want me to—)

(No, Spock. It's fine.) Tralnor briefly examined his left hand. Unless someone got a close look, it was hard to tell he wore two rings on that finger. “My wife was murdered by isolationist human supremacists. They took umbrage over her union with me.”

“Jesus Christ.” McCoy was sorry he asked.

“Amelie Grace died a hero. Her transport from Earth back to Vulcan was highjacked. She exchanged herself for a group of Vulcan school children and their chaperones that were the terrorists’ original target. We’d been legally married for six days. She was coming home so we could have our bonding ceremony.” Tralnor had viewed transport ship’s security footage. Amelie Grace took her time winding up her captors, giving the children leave to use the escape pods and explained how she manifested all the traits of an alien-loving human turncoat. She knew she was going to die when she made the exchange. She still did it. She’d seen one of the cameras and mouthed “I love you, Tralnor” a split second before her neck was slashed with a jagged blade. “I continue to wear the rings a deterrent. If people believe I am married, they are less likely to hit on me. I get much less unwanted attention than I used to.”

The CMO felt like an asshole. “I apologize, I didn’t think. . .well, shit.”

“You could say I’ve been widowed twice and divorced once. Since Amelie Grace’s death, I’ve taken myself off the market.”

(However, that might be changing.) Spock said, a tiny sliver of something like envy crossed over.

(I must ask again, do you think it’s actually her?) Tralnor, surprised at his last-minute reassignment, was utterly broadsided when Spock suggested Enterprise’s head of bioarchaeological xenoanthropology might be Tralnor’s missing and presumed dead childhood bondmate.

(It is a distinct possibility. She is a Belonite, versed in the ways of Temple Ko-tek’ru Kaylara t’Lyr Saan, and she is the right age. I never met your bondmate, nor did I ever learn her name. I am speculating.) And he didn’t want to get Tralnor’s hopes up.

“So, if you’re single and not looking to mingle, how does that work when you’re dealing with another _dirty little secret_?” At that point, McCoy figured he went in for the inch and decided to take on the mile.

“It doesn’t, Doctor.” Tralnor was, as part of his clan’s philosophy of spreading knowledge, more open and willing to answer questions other Vulcans would internally balk at. “My refusal to select a partner meant I had one choice. I was locked away in an empty room where I was expected to employ specific powerful meditation techniques to overcome the plak-tow or die.”

The images and fierce emotions from the events at Spock’s failed wedding pelted Tralnor from three different directions. The intense reactions to something that happened two years ago made the lining of Tralnor’s nasal passages twinge, manifesting their shared and private pain/frustration/terror. If he didn’t tamp this barrage down, his eyes would start to water. Mercifully, they arrived at the officer’s mess, thus derailing the emotional wrecking ball of the kal’i’fee.

  
  
  


“What’s wrong, honey?” Another member of the bridge crew, Lt. Uhura, joined Tralnor’s group. “I know it’s not what mama used to make, but it’s not terrible.”

Tralnor examined the items on his plate. “I regard all cafeteria food as suspect.”

“That’s no way to live.” Uhura was music: bright, steady in tempo, taking accidentals and signature changes in stride. Her state of being rippled with harmonious undertones. It made sense that she was Kirk’s communications officer.

He cautiously speared a green bean with his fork and took a bite, smelling the sour freezer burn before placing the turgid vegetable in his mouth.

“See, that’s not so bad. We’re lucky to have the real thing sometimes.” She dug into her main entree, pleased to have something not from the synthesizers on her plate.

Already devising alternate means of meeting his nutritional needs, Tralnor forced down another bite. The only thing showing any promise was a cherry cheesecake-looking dessert. Knowing his lot in life, it didn’t contain any real sugar, and the fruit was as nasty as the green beans.

A squirrelly yeoman approached the table, battered violin case in hand. “Sir,” he addressed someone or no one, “this just arrived for a Lt. Commander T.A. MacCormack. We don’t have a MacCormack on our crew manifest.”

(Here it comes, Spock)

(Indeed.) The first officer responded.

“That’s me.” Tralnor said, eyeing new damage on the case. He’d paid a premium for the civilians to ensure his violin was treated well and kept in an atmosphere and climate controlled cargo area. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. He stood to accept his last piece of luggage so that he might check if the instrument was still in one piece.

All casual dinner chatter halted, most of the room in silence, attention unduly placed on the captain’s table. Squirrelly yeoman wasn’t buying that there was any link between the case and the man claiming it.

“MacCormack is my father’s name.” Tralnor said loud enough for the officers in attendance to hear. “I might be listed on the manifest under Tralnor Ad’ehlevna, Ad’ehlevna being my mother’s family name, thus the T.A. MacCormack listed on the luggage tag.”

“Give the man his bag.” Uhura told the yeoman.

Squirrelly turned loose of the violin and took an awkward step back. Some random officer a few tables away said, “ _Gross. I can’t believe there’s more than one of them_.”

Disregarding the ugly comment, Tralnor started to address the room. “I’m going to say this once, and only once, so spread this message amongst your gossip networks accordingly.”

“ _Someone sure knows how humans operate_.” Was heard from the left.

“I am not Spock, and he is not me. We come from different backgrounds. We have different strengths and different weaknesses. Yes, we know each other. Our lives have crossed on several occasions. Yes, our families know each other. No, we did not go to school together. I am two years, one month, and nine days younger than he is. Yes, we are related, genetically, but not socially. No, I will not elaborate because as they say, _it’s complicated _. I have spent the majority of my professional career as a music educator at the secondary and university levels. I’m currently on sabbatical from my day job so I can serve aboard this fine vessel.” Now to end on a bit of humor, even if delivered in deadpan Vulcan style.__

“Another thing to keep in mind, Commander Spock is the result of Vulcan and human scientists working for years to ensure viability and vigor. I am the result of a wild night up at Lake Tahoe. His parents, an ambassador an a linguist, met at a diplomatic gala. My parents, a computer scientist and a pharmaceutical biochemist, met at a starbase dive-bar.

“I was born at the same hospital as Spock. I have two daughters and a geriatric tabby cat named Snot. The cat came with the name and responds to nothing else we’ve tried to call it.” Tralnor engaged the audience in a firm yet friendly manner, feeding them choice bits to keep them entertained and knock out rabid speculation that would have developed. “I ask that you pardon my interruption and return to your meal.”

Tralnor returned to his seat, placed the case on his lap, and opened it to see only the bridge had popped out. The violin was mostly fine. “Is there anything else you desire to know captain, doctor?”

“Just one thing, which isn’t very clear on your records, why exactly were you ordered through OCS and placed on active duty?” McCoy wasn’t about to let this opportunity wither.

“I was the ring-leader/instigator on a Freshman Spirit Mission to take something interesting from the Academy campus in San Francisco.”

The captain’s eyebrows climbed. “ _Freshman Spirit Mission_?”

“It was my first year as a student at the University of Southern California. As a member of the marching band, freshman participate in solidarity exercises that build a cohesive social bond within that particular cohort.”

“Hazing.” Kirk said.

“A mild form, yes.” Tralnor had questioned himself in recent months, had he known a night of stupidity when he was seventeen was going to set him up for an entirely unwanted stint in the military, would he and his friends still have gone through with his plan?

(Don’t worry, Cadet Spock has never been mentioned as harboring the enemy and aiding our escape regarding this incident.)

(Not that it matters now.) Spock asked the next question. “What exactly did you do?”

“Myself and two section-mates stole Zephram Cochran’s head.”

The mood around the table devolved into pandemonium as one of Starfleet Academy’s greatest mysteries was finally solved. A life-sized bronze statue of the celebrated warp core engineer was the centerpiece of the institution’s largest quad, a place all cadets became familiar with during their tenure. When Cochran was decapitated, it ushered in an era wherein Starfleet, the newest of the Pacific Conference schools, finally felt like they were taken seriously as an athletic rival.

“When I was at SFA, we were absolutely certain Stanford had done the deed.” Uhura couldn’t look at Tralnor without laughing. “It never occurred to us that USC was behind it.”

“Gary and I put our money UC Berkley. Boy were we wrong.” Kirk’s eyes glittered as he reveled in the absurdity of this declaration.

“How’d you finally get caught?” McCoy, who’d never given a damn about what happened to a severed chunk of metal couldn’t hide his amusement.

“Last fall, one of my co-pranksters was selected to participate on stage with one of those stand-up comedians who are also hypnotists. He asked her to quack like a duck, then divulge a funny secret to the audience. To make a long story short, I took the fall for all three of us, and here I am.”

“What happened to the original head? By the time I was a cadet, they had a replacement.” The communications officer had recovered some of her professional bearing.

“I honestly can’t tell you.” Tralnor wished he did know just to satisfy his own curiosity. “I put it in a backpack, then gave the bag with the head still inside to my section leader. She kept it on her closet shelf for a couple of weeks before it spent some time as a mantle piece at the Horn House. After that, it was moved to a Marina Del Rey storage locker owned by some percussion alumni. From there, it may have gone to the active percussion section. The last confirmed sighting of it was seven years ago when it made the rounds before the homecoming game. I have no idea where it is now. It’s not like the Victory Bell, where its taken out for public inspection.”

“Nuts.” McCoy said. “Absolutely nuts.”

  
  


Spock escorted Tralnor into Rec Room 4 where his Belonite bioarchaeologist spent many of her evenings. He pointed the woman out as her back was turned, but he needn’t have bothered. Belonites have very distinctive dark red hair, and Tralnor recognized it immediately.

The first officer observed as the music teacher approached. Tralnor held a finger to his lips, telling the woman’s friends to be quiet and not foil the surprise. When he was close enough, he placed his hands over her eyes, then said her name. “Sha’leyen.”

His empathic skills multiple levels down the charts from Tralnor’s, and their conversational link from earlier closed out, Spock did not anticipate the tsunami of unbridled joy and salvation that pounded him. He was forced to take a seat, lest he fall over, inundated by others’ experience of something he so deeply sought in his own life.

“Gods have mercy.” Usually restrained in her emotional expression, she broke open. Tears deluged Sha’leyen’s green-tinged cheeks. She grappled with his hands, weaving their fingers. “Tralnor, it’s you!”

Without severing their physical connection, Tralnor turned her as to hold her against his chest, where she wept into him. He tucked a lock of her violent red mane behind her rounded ear. “I thought you were dead.”

“And I thought I’d killed you.” She sobbed.

They sank to their knees, foreheads touching, desperate to prolong a homecoming neither thought they’d live to see.

 _That_ , Spock thought, _I want that_.


	3. Chapter 3

“I heard dinner was like feeding time at the insane asylum.”

God, Avery loved the sound of Sarah’s voice. He loved the way she smelled. He loved the way her hips and ass rocked as she walked, always wearing uniform trousers that clung to her figure. He’d loved her when they were in high school. Then and now, he’d never grown the balls to ask her out.

“Alton?” She reeled him back in from fantasy land. “You were there. What happened?”

“You know what Dr. Tralnor’s like.”

“Yeah.” She nodded at their shared experiences. Sarah, off duty, wore her curly black hair down her back, the way she did in school, where it complimented her dark eyes and olive complexion.

 _She doesn’t care if I didn’t go to the academy_ , he thought. “He was his honest, open self, just like always.”

“I suppose that’s all it would take.” She said. “He is a strange, _strange_ man.”

Avery was glad they’d secured a private lounge so he and Sarah could talk openly. He re-told the whole statue misadventure. “He messaged me that he’d like us to join him tomorrow evening for ralash-t’mu-yor.”

“ _Night music_.” She whispered, a fond smile warmed her features. Fingers to her right temple, she closed her eyes to take in cherished memories. After a couple of deep breaths, Sarah returned to the present conversation. “I will absolutely be there.”

“Rec Room 2 at 1910. It’s the one with the baby grand.” Avery let himself smile. “Hey, Sarah?”

“Hey, Alton?”

“You’re Science. Did you know he was coming?”

“Nope.” Even though she was medical microbiology, Sarah was friends with the medical laboratory science division’s administrator who seemed to know everything about everyone on board who wore blue shirts. “If anyone could have known, Jasper’s the guy. You’d think with a new Vulcan arriving, Jasper would be beside himself. His goal in this life is to finally bag one, so he can have, as he puts it, sweaty monkey sex with them.”

“Yuck.” He tried to put Chief Jasper out of his mind. “I don’t know how anyone could sleep with that man. I’d never be able to do it, he’s too fucking skeezy.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose at the thought. “You’ve talked to him, do you know why Dr. Tralnor is here?”

“No clue.”

“I bet something huge is going on that we’ll never learn the particulars to. It’s all too far above our pay grades. I’m not trying to be some conspiracy theorist, but that’s got to be the answer.”

“What makes you say that, Sarah?”

“A D.M.A in Music Ed and a Ph.D. in Acoustical Physics? _Think about it_.”

Avery wasn’t entirely sure what she meant. “So? Physics is science.”

“His disciplines are useless in space and have absolutely nothing to do with the functions of an exploratory vessel.” When she said it, it was obvious.

“Unless there’s some plan to turn one of the cargo bays into a recital hall. But that’s more ridiculous than your guess.” While Avery was pleased to catch up with a favorite teacher, the whole situation was weird.

“The rest of his academic background, while impressive, also means little out here. A double BA in Violin Performance and Film History.”

“Didn’t he get a minor in Sound Engineering?” That seemed useful. Starships employed a veritable army of engineers, even in the sciences.

“Sound Engineering isn’t what you’re thinking it is, Alton.”

“Oh. Now I feel stupid.” Alton dug through his brain, trying to come up with even a half-assed reason Dr. Tralnor should turn up on the Enterprise. “He’s got a Master’s in something, doesn’t he?”

“It’s an M.M. in Conducting.”

“Well, that’s that.” He said, disturbed by the conclusion he was forced to draw. “You’re right. There’s something hinky going on.”

  
  
  
Contemplative, Spock sat on the edge of his bunk, pondering topics meditation gave no insight. No amount of wishing, ignoring, or quashing the empty pit inside him away relieved him of this millstone, this turbulence, this painful burden that threatened to consume him.

Until the day James T. Kirk assumed command of the Enterprise, Spock thrived as a solitary, single man. Jim—just thinking the captain’s name made Spock involuntarily quake—was a supernova, something like a carelessly lobbed grenade, that destroyed the course of a well-planned life.

He no longer wanted to face this existence alone. His critics might extol this aching need as a defect from his mother’s supposedly inferior genetics, but he knew better. Vulcan brains, Vulcan souls, were conditioned to abhor vacuum, purposely honed for the telepathic bond that stitched two people together ad infinitum.

The choices were grim: implode a beautiful friendship on the basis he might just find the love and compassion he was looking for, possibly crippling the command structure of the entire mission, or remain behind his carefully crafted Vulcan facade and sully the relationship he and Jim enjoyed because he could not participate to fullness of his ability.

What was he going to do?

  
  
  
Jim Kirk accepted a measured glass of Dr. McCoy’s “medicinal” sipping whiskey. “Goddamn, Bones, I’ve needed this most of the day.”

“Yep.” McCoy left the decanter out on his desk. “Me too. Good thing today wasn’t some diplomatic thing because I not only stepped in shit, I dragged it inside and smeared it all over the carpets.”

“He didn’t seem offended.” Kirk savored the oaky flavor and citrus notes the alcohol branded into his tongue. “And even if he was, I think he’s far too mellow to say anything.”

“ _Mellow_?”

“For a Vulcan, I mean.”

McCoy gave some non-committal sound and bobbed his eyebrows. “After the communal meltdown at dinner, I came back here to take a better look at Dr. Tralnor’s medical records, specifically the file containing his sequenced genome.”

Kirk looked at the graphic McCoy put on his desk monitor, not understanding what he was seeing. The doctor then subdivided the screen, putting up a second set of results. “Go on Bones, blurt it out. Something on that screen has got you all excited.”

“It stuck in my craw when Dr. Tralnor said what he did about Lake Tahoe.”

“More people than we’d care to know are brought about by similar circumstances.”

McCoy shook his head in the negative. “Not Vulcan-human hybrids, Jim. It took the lab jockeys at the Science Academy years of failure before Spock was born. This Tralnor fella, he was naturally conceived.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know what you’re looking at?”

“You tell me.” Medicine was one of those closer-to-home frontiers that Kirk had no desire to explore.

“This is Spock. His human DNA is represented by the blue, Vulcan by red, and the stuff where you see the hash marks are the things turned off or not expressed.” The red outshone the blue, but not by much. “Whatever the hell was done to the Lyr Saan millennia ago doesn’t look like its loosened its grip.”

“That’s—Other than the Y chromosome and a few other flecks of blue, shouldn’t there be a more even distribution than that?”

“The little blue freckles I just highlighted are exactly the human traits those Golic bastards selected for. Any other blue is primarily linked to outward appearance, immune function, and reproduction, so their slaves could self-propagate.”

“What does it mean that there aren’t any pieces showing up with hash marks?” A juvenile part of Kirk's mind thought of cheesy movie monsters.

“They were overwritten, sublimated, and destroyed. Even though he’s listed in files as a Vulcan-human hybrid, half-and-half, he’s something else entirely.” McCoy shut down the viewer.

Kirk poured another drink from the decanter. “I need this one even more.”

  
  
  
The enlisted kid at the quartermaster’s office tried to perform some kind of magic feat with the computer. When Tralnor’s berthing initially came up on the screen, the kid bobbed his Adam’s apple and gawped before pounding the keys. “Uhmmmmmmm. . .”

“What is it, crewman?” Tralnor prompted.

The kid was flustered, starting to break out in a nervous sweat that carried a sour odor, and bracing against the ass-chewing sure to erupt from this new Lt. Commander. “It’s your quarters, Sir.”

“And?” Tralnor’s brain felt like it was brimming with broken glass grinding into scarred-over psionic wounds reopened by his encounter with Sha’leyen. He wasn’t going to reprimand the kid for anything so long as he got some kind of assignment where he might stretch out for the night. A closet floor would work.

“They’re not ready.” He shrank down. “A pipe burst. It’s going to be a couple of days until maintenance gets done.”

“I understand there are matters outside of your control.”

“You do?” The kid’s eyes widened with a modicum of faith restored in the rest of the crew. “Oh, thank God.”

Tralnor waited for the quartermaster’s system to spit out a temporary assignment, relieved to know he had a place to hang his proverbial hat for a few nights.

“I’m sorry about all this, Sir. I have to put you down with some junior officers. That pipe flooded an entire section, so...” The kid swiped a chit through one of the smaller machines on the desk. “I’ll have one of the guys deliver the rest of your stuff in a little bit, now that we know where it’s going.”

He accepted the chit and saw deck, compartment, and room numbers, the door code, and the names and ranks of the people already berthed. He thanked the crewman and made for the nearest turbolift.

Tralnor only got lost once on his way to his shared accommodation. He filed that mistake away so he didn’t repeat it. Upon arrival at the proper place, he meant to announce himself and accept an invitation to enter instead of just barging in when the door slid open on its own accord.

“Come on in, mate.” A massive Afro-Carribean British man filled the entryway. “They just dropped off your stuff.”

Tralnor crossed the threshold and was immediately enveloped by the smells of his old college dorm: sweat, cheap cologne, and flatulence. A lower bunk to his right sported the bags containing his personal effects. He set the violin with them. “I’m Lt. Commander Tralnor MacCormack, though I would prefer you address me as Dr. Tralnor.”

“Funny.” Another cabin-mate appeared. Wispy build and skin the color of sour cream suggested this red- shirted lieutenant, while human, was from a low gravity world that didn’t get much natural light. His eyes swept over Tralnor, and a slight, feral grin let the Vulcan know instant attraction was there. “You don’t look all that Irish to me.”

“Scottish. My father’s lineage is from the Borders.”

“ _Really, now_?”

“Stop flirting with him, O’Dell.” Man-mountain started going around the room, introducing the bunk-mates. “I’m William Atherton-Smyth VI. Call me Billy the Sixth, everyone does.”

“Except the Krampus.” Another young man said. “He won’t acknowledge any of us have first names.”

“Horndog over there is Chris O’Dell.” Billy went on.

“The Krampus could do with some loosening up, but he’ll never let me.” O’Dell stared right at Tralnor. “Something tells me you’ve been down that road before.”

“Fuck’s sake, O’Dell. Just go rub one out and settle down for a while. I’m Rohit Gupta.”

“That guy is,” Billy pointed to the one who’d brought up the Krampus, “Andy Pickett.” That ticked off all but one of the names listed on the chit.

“Awe, shit.” Gupta looked at his watch. “Look at the time.”

Pickett began humming a short ditty Tralnor recognized as the Flying Monkey theme from The Wizard of Oz.

“You could set an atomic clock to this dude’s schedule.” O’Dell scoffed.

“All right, mate.” Billy said to Tralnor. “Its time to meet the Krampus.”

Snarky comments and teasing dropped to the side when the final bunk-mate entered, contempt roiling off his person, dagger eyes fixated on Tralnor.

“What is _that_ doing here?” The venomous tone sent ice through the humans’ veins. “It should not even be on the ship.”

Tralnor regarded Lt. Seltun. The younger Vulcan shimmered in a barely contained rage.

“Get it out of my living space.”

“Whoa there, Seltun.” Pickett tried to defuse the situation. “You can’t go around talking like this to superior officers. Do you _want_ to be brought up on insubordination charges?”

“If you had any idea what this is, you would not be so keen to befriend it.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Gupta stepped in.

“Rum nem-torsu.” Seltun hissed. “Kae’at k’lasasu.”

Tralnor said nothing and made no defensive moves physically or psionically. Seltun took one step closer. “ _They should have killed you at birth_.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You don’t have a concussion.” The nurse said as she set down her medical tricorder. She had difficulty looking at Tralnor’s face. Each time she let her brain synthesize his features, a muddled bleating of _Not Spock!/Why doesn’t he think I’m good enough_? rattled around her.

“Thank you.” He didn’t have the luxury of her name.

McCoy gunned his way into the diagnostic area. “I’ve got this, Christine.”

The nurse retreated, leaving the two men alone.

“What the hell did you say to set him off like that?” The doctor gave Tralnor’s head a visual once-over.

“I didn’t have to say anything.” The external blows and the bruises left in their wake decided to compete with the wreckage in his brain from earlier. He closed his eyes against the discomfort. “It’s enough that I exist.”

“Unreal.” McCoy uttered.

Footsteps grew closer, two sets, both men. Kirk. Spock.

“Doctor, I requested one of your staff go to the brig to administer a sedative to Lt. Seltun.” Spock exuded a placid demeanor.

“Are you sure you still want me here, Spock? I know Mollie calls me Captain Chaos, to you, behind my back. It’s not an unfit description.” Sizzling projectiles of curiosity launched from human brains.

McCoy was interested in the dropped name, who it belonged to, and how she was related a couple of Vulcans.

Kirk’s hackles raised. “Who’s Mollie?”

“On the human side of my family, I’m one of seven first cousins who were raised more or less together. I’m an only child, but Mollie is my older sister.” Tralnor didn’t much care if his family dynamic made sense to those in attendance. “Us kids, we split a lot of our time between the MacCormack family peach orchards and the Ad’elhevna holdings on Vulcan.”

“ _Crossing paths_?"

“Crossing paths.” Tralnor reiterated. “My particular branch of the MacCormacks are human psions, part of a tradition that’s come down over the centuries. Right after my parents were married, the MacCormacks wanted to share their training methods and disciplines with the Lyr Saan and vice versa.”

“So, Mollie’s human?” Kirk asked, his subconscious trying to figure out if Spock could possibly have any interest in a relationship with a human.

“Is Mollie human?” Tralnor posed the question in a rhetorical sense before restating it in a practical manner. “Spock, is Mollie human?”

“In a legal sense, she is not.” Spock didn’t explain, couldn’t explain right then. “But, yes, she is human.”

“Out of all the MacCormack kids, you’re closest to her, then I’d be next on the list.”

“That is correct.”

A fog of confusion emanated off the captain. On the one hand, he was happy that Spock may have actually had some part-time friends as a child. On the other, he was mildly hurt that this Mollie was close to Spock in any capacity.

“Captain Chaos? Most sisters call their little brothers boogerbrains or dogbreath.” McCoy picked up the conversation.

“She explained it to me like this: my entire life has been a series of dumpster fires. Once I get one put out, I look ahead, and there’s another dumpster fire blocking my progress. I get that one extinguished, take a step to the right and sidle up to a dumpster I didn’t know was there but it’s going up in flames anyway. I follow bedlam, or it follows me.” His face spasmed, an uncontrollable reaction to the various strains of pain wracking his head.

“Yet, you are here.” Spock said.

  
  
  
Direct calls to civilian lines were generally frowned upon for recreational visitation, but this could be construed as a research inquiry. After the fifth ring, Spock expected to leave a message. Instead, his screen connected and showed a blurry picture of the sole of a shoe receding. He heard a set of keys land on a wooden floor, followed by the inevitable flow of curse words.

“Dr. MacCormack?” He asked.

“Which one?” Shoulders moved as hands groped along the floor. “There’s like thirty of us, you’ll have to be more specific. If you give me a first name or area of expertise, I can probably connect you to the Dr. MacCormack you’re looking for.”

The figure stood, straightened clothing, and revolved to face the screen. That huge smile. “To what do I owe this call, Spock? Is something wrong? Because you don’t look like you want to talk about the statistics we’re running in our next paper.”

“Mollie.”

She removed a light jacket, tossed her keys on the console table he knew was next to the front door, and pulled the comfortable chair up to the screen.

“I have interrupted you.”

“Not really.”

“You were clearly dressed to leave the house. I will arrange to call you back at a later time.”

“Spock, it’s okay.” Her sunny features slackened, adopting an air of concern. “I didn’t want to go grocery shopping anyway. What’s up?”

Tongue-tied, he knew he could say anything to her but didn’t know how to articulate the writhing mass of tumult that threatened to consume him. He switched to a diversionary tactic. She’d see through him, but allow it anyway. “It is your brother.”

“Wow. Not even on board for twenty-four hours and Tralnor’s already busting up the joint?” She chuckled and dropped her head before bring her smile back to the screen.

There were a scant number of humans whose laughter was pleasant to Spock’s ears, Lady Amanda, Mollie, and Jim Kirk. Jarred again by the effect of just thinking his name, Spock closed his eyes just long enough to recover his control.

“You’re not regretting this, are you? Tralnor will never do anything to harm anyone deliberately. He just seems to attract more than his fair share of discord. . . _Spock_?”

“The Belonite. It is her.”

Mollie’s face resonated more than her words. “Holy fucking balls. That’s monumental.”

“Their reaction the first time they touched, not seeing one another since they were fourteen, even with their bond completely destroyed by outside interference, it was. . .” Words failed him.

“This is one of those times where my heart breaks for you.” She touched the screen as she did to him when they were alone, in private. Through the screen, light years between them, there was no way to link their minds so they might explore their conversation without relying on speech and body language.

“I want to believe it would be like that with Jim.” His brain stumbled over the knot where his ideas on love, sex, and relationships weren’t at a differential stage. “How can I know he would want me, especially like that, when logic cannot guide me?”

Mollie was masterful at the art of Vulcan silence. She knew how to use the lulls of conversation to compose what she’d say next, giving thought to her approach on the topic at hand. He did not rush her.

“We can look at this a little like a flow chart. The first thing to find out is if he likes men in a sexual and romantic sense. If not, its time to cut bait and you’ve still got a great friend.”

“Jim almost exclusively has relations females. However, there are a small handful of exceptions.” That prized discovery, borne of an accidental run-in with one of Jim’s male liaisons, replayed in his mind a least once a day.

“First hurdle cleared.” She got up, grabbed the call screen, and walked with him into the kitchen. Once she had a reheated cup of coffee and a cheese danish in hand, they returned to the alcove designed back when land-line telephones were technological marvels. “This man, he gives you the fizz. I see it when you talk about him. And the only way to find out if its reciprocal is to take a chance and ask him, maybe even date fora bit, fuck around a little. Explore one another and compare notes. Who knows, the coals may not start, it could be a slow burn, or that first touch sets off a blazing inferno. One of you has to reach out first. Why not you?”

“Lack of practical experience in such matters.” He said.

“How? Look, I know you’re not a virgin.” The left corner of her mouth poked up. “Explain.”

“Jim has had innumerably more partners than I.”

“Okay. And you’ve had? God, it’s not like it matters.” She took a drink of her coffee, grimaced, and shoved the mug away. “So, there’s me.”

“Once, with Sohja.”

“And that’s still it, huh? I promise you’re worried over nothing. If Jim likes you, he’s not going to care if you’ve slept with two people or two hundred.”

“You are certain?” Spock, used to the reassurance of his expertise as a scholar and a Starfleet officer, was cast adrift in matters of the heart.

“When you join with him, physically, mentally, it’s going to be like nothing you’ve ever experienced.” He started to comment, but she cut him off.  
“Different than when you and I have sex. We’re friends who approach this kind of intimacy from another direction. Even though part of our motivation has changed over the years, our lovemaking is in response to the solidarity of our friendship and a common desire to offer one another comfort.”

“Jim is my friend.”

“Not in the same way.” She countered.

“I am not sure I understand.” Sex, love, and confusion, those three things seemed to go together a lot recently.

“We established, before we punched each other’s v-cards, that we weren’t going to get married or engage in a romantic relationship with one another. I’ve always known that I didn’t want to be your girlfriend, and I didn’t want to be your wife. I still don’t want those things. Nor have you wanted that from me.”

Spock nodded, clearly recalling their first sexual encounter. They were sixteen, and his parents were gone that night. It was sweet, gentle, woven with kindness. . . He wanted all that with Jim, but with something more. At the same time, he did not want to hurt anyone.

“Not wanting to tie the knot doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other.” She held up her hand to stop him saying anything. “You wanting and finding passion with Jim doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other. I wake up tomorrow and elope with the gal who works behind the counter at the bakery doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other. Just remember, upon inspection, what you and I have is in a separate category, filed under: _No, really, we’re just friends_.”

“Should I explain you to Jim?”

“Yes, a thousand times yes, Spock. If you can’t find the words to explain us, try this: We’re long-term friends and professional colleagues who just so happen to fuck sometimes. Tell him that nothing would please me more than for the both of you to be happy together.” Her smile lit up her face. “Now, before we return to our day, its time to baton down the hatches.”

Fingers steepled, eyes closed, they slowed their breathing before reciting a selection from the writings of Surak.

  
  
  
Mollie.

Kirk returned to his quarters directly from sickbay. The chronometer stated ship’s time at 0137. He flicked on his computer terminal, kicked his boots into some random location that would vex him later, and shucked his shirt, hurling it past the partition and into the darkened area of his stateroom.

Why was learning of this person like taking a pile of sand and pouring it into his eyes? He had to know more about her. _Who_ was she? _What_ was she? He entered her name into an academic database he used when brushing up on facts and files for diplomatic meet-and-greets and other assorted milk-runs. It took a little tweaking to his search terms, but when he found her, he was floored.

Dr. Mallia Ad’ehlevna MacCormack, Ph.D., MSc., MEng., was a mathematician, researcher, and software engineer who primarily worked in the field of psiophysiology with secondary interests in artificial intelligence and crowdmapping. A citizen of Vulcan, she was fluent in the language and customs of that harsh red world. A gifted musician, she was also the veteran of two shorter deep space missions sponsored by the VSA.

And, she was beautiful.

Her resemblance to Tralnor was uncanny, but her eyes weren’t the same green. She had thick, dark hair, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and in other circumstances, Kirk would be in lust with this woman. Instead, he hated her.

Of course, Spock would _cross paths_ with someone like that. And if you’re like Spock, from a particular social class with specific familial obligations to fulfill, who would you choose? Ramjet the Iowa farm boy or the educated woman who could trace her family back to Roman times? Starfleet’s macho, swaggering hero, or someone who can produce an heir?

Kirk closed down his terminal and spoke a few choice cuss words to the empty room.

Mollie.

  
  
  
“I have to put you on speaker.” Tralnor set his ‘phone,’ a civilian-model communicator, on his breakfast tray and started toward the serving line.

“—And that’s when I said, ‘That’s exactly what I was talking about!’ What a bunch of putzes.” Joseph Bergman laughed at all his own jokes.

“I was able to view part of the pan-and-scan before I left for the Enterprise.” He visually assessed the melancholic breakfast offerings. It all smelled bad. “Frames are missing in both Mr. Blue Sky and Sing, Sing, Sing.”

“It’s the film. It’s degraded.” Joe rustled around, probably digging for something to chew on. “Sohja wanted to do it the old-fashioned way, and here we are, years later, with old-fashioned problems. Our prints were destroyed in that fire, and the archivists did a shitty job of preserving the original. What you saw, is about how the whole rest of it plays out.”

Tralnor randomly grabbed a bunch of grapes, a bowl cottage cheese, and a plausible facsimile of an orange before clamping the handle of a spoon in his teeth so he’d have one hand free to fill his coffee cup. “If that’s the case, we’ll need to composite those frames and cut them in.”

“If we could just go with the digital,” Joe stopped himself. “Fuck it. Sohja wouldn’t stand for that, even one twenty-fourth of a second in the entire show.”

“That should keep you busy.” Fortunately for Tralnor, there was an empty table on the outskirts of the dining area. “What’s our turnaround looking like?”

“ _What_? You either need to invest in a better phone or take the dick out of your mouth because I can barely understand you.”

Tralnor spit his spoon out onto the table as to settle the tray and his coffee. “No dicks. Just silverware.”

“That sounds way better. All depends on how fast we can process this stuff.” Joe’s fingers clacked around on his computer, the odd sound effect the machine fired off made him laugh. “How do you want to do this? Dailies or digest?”

“Dailies, when the subspace signal can reach us.” Tralnor made work of mixing his fruit into the cheese.

“And we won’t make any official changes on our side until we’ve heard from you. Man, this movie, I tell you.”

“That’s acceptable.”

“One more question before I take off. What do you call a herd of cows masturbating? Beef strokin’off!” Hiccuping swales of laughter cut across space and time.

“Thanks, Joe. You’re such a professional.”

The connection terminated on the earth end. Without the ambient noise of Joe’s office and the low-throated hiss and crackle on the line itself, didn’t hear any other conversation. _How nice, my co-producer is an ass_ , Tralnor thought, _who treats life like a never-ending penis joke_.

“Dr. Tralnor, come see me in my office when you are finished so we can discuss your duty assignment.”

“Yes, Sir.”

It wasn’t until Spock left the mess that voices started to pick up again.


	5. Chapter 5

Tralnor entered the Science Officer’s lair just as Spock was signing off on a data padd. “I understand that part of your conditions for working at Starbase 4 was that you be allowed to undertake a certain number of tasks and activities you will otherwise miss in your civilian capacity.”

“Correct.” Tralnor was glad Spock had met Joe Bergman many years before and knew what a right little knob the guy was. “I apologize for disturbing another meal. I was attempting to make up a production meeting.”

“So I gathered. Joe has not changed.”

“And I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.”

“Starbase 4 arranged for you to have use of a space wherein you had access to your work contacts, a projector, a sound system, and fastest network connection possible.”

While he said he was on sabbatical, that was not entirely true. He’d insisted on keeping some specific responsibilities under his purview. The loss of that workspace was devastating, comparable to a chemist being deprived of her lab. “That was the plan.”

“I have reviewed your requisition as forwarded from Starbase 4.” A little lick of amusement, the kind of detail only a hyper-empath might pick up, came from Spock’s brain. “The Enterprise simply does not have the capacity to comply with the entirety of that request. You are therefore welcome to use Rec Room 2 for your needs, the caveat being our recreational facilities are open for all the crew to utilize.”

“It’s generous of you to do that for me. Thank you.” That burden lifted, Tralnor felt like he’d racked up his first win since stepping aboard. “Sohja, Joe, and I have secured the rights to _Celluloid Vokaya_ and have started the process of restoring it.”

Spock said nothing about the film and drew his emotional barriers in tighter. “Because you have the experience necessary to complete the work, I am placing you in the media lab, alpha shift.”

That was an excellent place to hide someone like Tralnor. Media lab was essential to the so-called wet sciences’ basic function, but it kept him out of the way. This job might not smell as nice as being a paper pusher on Starbase 4, but it promised a bit more intellectual stimulation. “Now that we have that taken care of, I know you did not bring me aboard this ship because you have need for an extraneous autoclave operator.”

Spock opened a locked cabinet and reached in. “This arrived via diplomatic pouch seven weeks ago.”

A padded document folder, emblazoned with the High Council’s seal, was placed on the desk. Tralnor regarded it wearily. “Paper?”

Spock’s silence on the matter confirmed the worst. A paper communique was a sign of impending trouble on the horizon. Only the most sensitive and paranoia-inducing information was relayed from ShiKahr in this manner. Tralnor engaged his fine empathic motor controls and let his fingertips graze the embossed cover. An imprint of needing help and fear of Vulcan’s ugly past ghosted through his neural connections.

“The High Council likes us when they need us.” Tralnor said, his comment encompassing him and the first officer. He lifted the cover back and braced against what was coming.

The letter had a different consciousness associated with it than the folder. He knew who wrote the document before examining the content and the closing signature. He wound up reading it three times for context, clarity, and verification. When he finished, he set the paper back in its official casement.

Spock said, “T’Pau believes I can find it and you can neutralize it. Do you share in that assessment?”

Tralnor could tell Spock was unsure. “Isn’t this one of those errands that typically gets covertly worked into a diplomatic mission? Negotiations, espionage, and a bit of hopefully unnoticed taking-without-consent.”

“Sarek and T’Lal have engaged in such activities in the past. Neither my father nor your mother is physically capable of handling this at present. Sarek required another open heart procedure this year.”

“And my mother’s illness is growing more severe.” Tralnor had vague early childhood recollections of his mother calling the house in California and cryptically conversing with his father. Her _business trips_ , as those excursions came to be known, were sporadic and secretive. Sometimes she came home bearing evidence of physical injury and/or psychic exhaustion. As a university student, he learned the truth about what she and the ambassador got up to.

“T’Pau specified you for this, Spock, knowing full well it could damage you and your career. You don’t have the protection of diplomatic immunity or the use of Starfleet personnel or property to get this done. I’d understand if her communique showed up in my mailbox at the music department, but my name’s not in that letter.”

It simply said, _Find the proper Lyr Saan individual to accompany you._

“You are my only choice.” Spock averted his gaze. “Had T’Pau named you. . .”

“It might signal an end to the acrimonious relationship between our families.” Tralnor popped his jaw. “And where’s the fun in that?”

He and Spock shared a wry glance with one another.

“T’Pau will never back down.”

“T’Lessa will always harbor resentment.” Tralnor said.

“As is within her rights. T’Pau’s nephew has tried to murder T’Lessa’s daughter on no fewer than three separate occasions.”

“Four.” Tralnor said. “My mother was poisoned twelve years ago. She barely survived.”

“I did not know.”

“Thus, I describe our being related as _complicated_.” Following the saga of the contemporary Clan Surak/Clan Lyr Saan rift was akin to watching a soap opera. T’Pau’s brother’s grandson was betrothed to T’Lessa, the idea being a union between the clans was beneficial in the modern day. Both sides agreed, the children were bonded, and as adults, they entered into married life. The marriage worked, for a while, until their second child was born.

Tralnor struggled to recall his grandfather’s name. He’d never heard it spoken and seen it written once in an old legal document before it was destroyed.

“His given name was Sepek.” Spock came around to Tralnor’s side of the desk, occupying the second visitor’s chair. “Sepek’s sahaisaya is so complete, the codified family history states T’Pau has one brother, Solkar.”

“Our side, if he comes up at all, he’s listed as klee’fah’tu.” A banished non-person, that’s what T’Lal’s amended birth record had listed under father.

Sepek may never have turned to his criminal ways if T’Lal didn’t manifest Lyr Saan psionic abilities to such an overwhelming degree. His flawed logic told him T’Lal was an embarrassment and a mortal threat to Clan Surak and the only way to protect his family was to kill the abomination he’d created. He made his first murder attempt when T’Lal was three and sealed his expulsion from Vulcan.

T’Pau wanted to completely disassociate from Sepek’s actions even though it took the drastic measure of shunning her brother and nephew in the process. Sepek was sent away and erased, leaving T’Lessa terrified her child was still in danger and convinced that T’Pau was more concerned about protecting Clan Surak’s reputation than saving a life.

Thus, two men aboard a Federation starship, related but not, contemplated their near-futures.

“Back to the topic at hand, why do you want me for this?” Tralnor did not see Spock’s motivation. “There are more-qualified people within the ranks of Temple Ko-tek’ru Kaylara, academics who specialize in these things and know how to be discreet.”

“I want you because I know I can trust you.” Spock cocked his head a few degrees to the left and with a brow partially raised, he said, “And, you still owe me a favor.”

  
  
  
Tralnor caught a whiff of the media lab before he stepped off the turbolift. Gnarly odors of vaporizing sheep’s blood, bacterial blooms on agar plates, detergents, and reagents greeted him something like a joker’s version of a welcome home. Petri dishes, electrophoresis gels, biological growth media, mounted and stained microscope slides, the media lab prepared some of the most vital practical supplies to Enterprise’s research labs and dealt with the clean-up upon the conclusion of these supplies’ useful lives.

The lieutenant supervising the media lab was overenthusiastic when he shot up from his chair to stand at attention. “Lt. Commander, it’s a pleasure to have you working with us. Lt. Chavez, at your beck and call.”

Chavez proffered his hand and tried to act like he wasn’t disappointed when Tralnor refused to shake. A subordinate snickered and whispered that Chavez was a wanker. “Okay. . .This entire ship would come grinding to a screeching halt without the efforts of the mighty media lab. Everything you see, everything we, and now you, do here is the heartbeat of the Enterprise’s five-year mission.”

Listening to this was worse than a hammy actor “dramatically” reciting his canned Oscars speech. Chavez puffed out his gristly chest. He’d heard about the musician passing himself off as a scientist and resented being stuck with a useless man who outranked him at the same time. “I expect nothing but the best of my men, Tralnor. If you don’t think you have what it takes for media lab, you will by the time your tour is up.”

A crewman sighed, and another uttered, “ _What a moron_ ".

“Tripoxiphene neurolsonate.” Tralnor said. “Methogabalinatic Acid.”

Chavez indulged a smug smile. “ _Medications_?”

“My first real job as a teenager was with the research team developing those drugs. Through the blatant nepotism of my mother and my auntie,” Tralnor observed Chavez’s continued ego inflation because how else was a violinist going to work in a pharmaceutical lab if his mommy didn’t get him in the door? “I was hired as their _dish bitch_.”

A few people chuckled at the use of the slang term for media lab workers. Chavez momentarily sputtered and partially recovered to say, “Ensign Woodward will issue your safety equipment.”

  
  
  
“ _Mr. Spock_?”

It wasn’t the words that registered, but the edge on them. The captain arrived on the bridge in a sour mood and snapped at the easy targets around him. Spock suspected he had not gotten back to sleep after their midnight summons to sickbay. “Captain?”

“I was asking about the breathability of the atmosphere on Melbek III.” _Or didn’t you hear me_?

Any other time, to have one of Jim’s thoughts cross the room, readable and complete without the use of touch telepathy, might have brought Spock great contentment. Not hearing Jim, then _hearing him_ , proved how distracted he was by the letter he’d shown Tralnor. “It is consistent with that of M-class planets humans are most comfortable on. The planet’s surface is forty-eight percent fresh water, forty percent land mass, and twelve percent unknown.”

“Uhura, the surveyors reported no advanced species, what has their observational satellite gathered for us in the time since the mapmakers drifted through the Melbek system?”

As Uhura replied to the captain, Spock’s thoughts immediately returned to T’Pau’s directive. On the surface, it looked like an easy enough task, retrieve a dangerous item and see out its destruction. He’d not entirely gotten beneath the euphemistic layers she used to describe what this thing was or why it needed to meet its end. At this point, he didn’t know what it looked like, and making any contact with T’Pau about it was strictly verboten.

“Spock?”

He flinched and found the captain’s hand on his shoulder.

“Do I need to send you down to Bones?” Those human fingers lingered just a millisecond too long.

He forced his heartbeat to remain steady and strangled his psionic abilities before possibly entertaining the temptation to let a tendril creep through that hand, up the arm, and into the captain’s epicenter ever crossed his mind. This was a ripe opportunity to learn Jim’s capacity to love Spock, and stop torturing himself about this once and for all. But that was not how these things worked, breaching the laws of telepathic privacy proved little, except that Spock was the barbarian his childhood bullies accused him of being.

The hand was gone.

“I do not require Dr. McCoy’s administrations.”

  
  
  


Kirk ordered the first officer to leave the bridge and take a break. It was a distraction that Spock was so lost in the clouds. Each time he stared off, or reverted into his thoughts, or whatever, the workflow and environment in this space derailed. He even advised the Vulcan to get a cup of coffee, “to perk yourself up or settle your nerves.” Spock was not amused and went off to collect himself.

He touched his palm, where it rested on the blue velour and wondered if that was the last time he’d touch Spock with such non-professional compulsion? “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He too exited the bridge, took the turbolift to deck three, entered his quarters, and barely waited for the door to seal him off from the rest of the ship before punching the wall four times, each successive throw harder and more damaging than the one before.

“ _Fuck_!”

He’d tried. Oh God, he’d tried, tried to shake the paralysis that laid waste to all the things he wanted to say, tried to tease out information, tried to exhibit conduct becoming an officer when what he wanted to do was take Spock aside and kiss him. Clumsy words and actions, miserably failed attempts at flirting, skin-to-skin contact would let Kirk communicate with this man who didn’t know he’d stolen his captain’s heart.

Kirk had lost his chance, some window he didn’t know existed between Spock’s shitstorm of a wedding and. . .Mollie. He thought he’d get until at least the end of their five-year mission to beat back the crippling apprehension and tell Spock how he felt. Blind to the situation, stupid, still recovering from McCoy’s artificial death, Kirk probably only had a few days, hours really, to announce his intentions. But, with Spock’s biological needs in the future to account for, even Kirk conceded Mollie was the logical choice.

  
  
  
Lt. Biltmore shoved his way into Sarah David’s quarters where she and Avery were seated and looking at a yearbook.

“Hey! What’s your problem?” One of Sarah’s bunkmates sniped. “Don’t ask or anything.”

“Come on in, Vince. We were just enjoying some time without you.” Avery indicated with a flick of his head that Biltmore needed to shove off.

“The Krampus flipped his fucking lid last night! We’re talking like Article 90 type shit.” Biltmore plopped onto the bunk directly across from Sarah’s. “Billy the Sixth says he’s never seen the like.”

“We all know the Krampus is crotchety and a little too high strung.” Sarah started to talk when Biltmore ran off with the conversation.

“I guess he started screaming and wailing on your teacher friend. It took four security guys to haul his ass to the brig.”

Avery looked skeptical. “Are you sure it’s the Krampus and not some lunatic-fringe Earth First weirdo?”

“I asked Lindsay— _Ensign Jamison_ —and she says he’s been down there all day and won’t talk to counsel.” Head shaking in disbelief, Biltmore said, “The Krampus thinks everyone on board is a naughty child. I guess he’s taking his namesake seriously.”

“Believe me, Vince, that’s not it.” Sarah got up and retrieved a guitar case from the bunk above hers. “We’ll fill you in a little on the way to Rec Room 2.”


	6. Chapter 6

Lyr Saan slave traditions still in practice included the performance of ralash-t’mu-yor. For the slaves, by the slaves, Night Music was a communal expression of the art and beauty a non-autonomous people who supposedly weren’t capable of. In the evenings, after a meal, was a short recital.

Sarah stopped short her approach. Her infinitesimally handsome teacher was. . . “Oh. My. God. Alton warned me, but he didn’t say they left you just about bald.”

“There are worse fates, Sarah.”

She lay the guitar case across a table Dr. Tralnor commandeered for the detritus associated with his regular occupations. “I’m glad you find some, I don’t know, humor in it, but it reminds me too much of old pictures I’ve seen where Nazis are laughing as they are cutting the hair off Orthodox Jews.”

“While ignorance is not an excuse for my date with the clippers, it was an error that will not happen again. Though it will take some time for the changes to be codified.”

“You’ve set them on the path of saven-tor, nah-tor, and ken-tor?” Sarah remembered those pillars of the Lyr Saan philosophy: education, contemplation, and understanding.

“That is the idea.” He pointed to her borrowed six-string. “You don’t happen to have your tenor or access to one?”

Sarah already liked where this question was heading. “I’ve got it. I’ve only got one set of civvies because I sacrificed that space for my saxophone. The other girls think I’m mad.”

“Dr. Vonna and I are beginning to plan the Summer Splendor concert. We can use some strong musicians on this side of the event.”

“Hell yeah, I’m your gal.” An effervescent giddiness filled her. “What’s first on tonight’s playlist?”

  
  
  


Spock slipped into Rec Room 2 as the first song, something from earth’s past he did not recognize, began. Ralash-t’mu-yor, while not something his family participated in, was one of the Vulcan cultural practices he liked best. He sat down to listen and wait for Tralnor.

Piano, guitar, basic percussion, Tralnor singing lead with young up-and-coming science officer Sarah David providing backing vocals, they sounded good for not having seen one another in six or seven years. “ _Piano man/Makes her stand/In the auditorium_. . .”

“Thank you for bringing him here.” Sha’leyen seated herself next to Spock.

Like a man running his tongue over his teeth to see if they were all there after a fist fight, Spock touched the ashes of his bond, encountering only grit and bitterness.

He looked at her through the corner of his eye, and as always, was saddened by the visible scars on her face. Before her tenure in Starfleet, someone brutally beat this woman within an inch of her life and left her to live or die without proper medical attention.

“I am glad I could reunite you with your loved one.” Spock didn’t know Sha’leyen well on a personal level even after serving with her for eight years. One of the handful of officers held over from Captain Pike’s command, she was exemplary at her job, and deep space suited her.

“My parents tried to get me away from Belon. They sent me into the protection of Tralnor’s family, away from the war hell-bent on overthrowing the monarchy. I was safe for about ten months when I was abducted from a transit terminal, captured as a war bride, and my bond with Tralnor violently severed.”

Not a member of the Federation, and just barely qualified to join if they could stop fighting amongst themselves long enough to apply for admission, Belon was a world populated by humanoids that were possibly descended from the same original stock as the Vulcans and were certainly colonized by pre-Reform Vulcans for a time. As such, they shared nearly identical anatomical and physiological characteristics. Plagued by war and conflict, Belon was an isolated, backwater planet of little strategic value.

“Had I known,” he said, “I would have made your reintroduction sooner. If Tralnor’s sister had not recently mentioned a missing girl, I never could have made the connection.”

“No regrets.” Sha’leyen replied. “Only the future.”

  
  
  
“Let’s try this again, Jim.” McCoy placed a cold layer of dermaplast over the captain’s mangled knuckles. The injury was swollen, discolored, and hours old. “This isn’t a slip-and-fall no matter how hard you lie to me about it.”

“I lost my footing and collided into a wall in my quarters.” Kirk’s words flowed with false neutrality.

McCoy scowled. “I’ve got two words for you, _bull_ and _shit_.”

“Bones, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Not backing down, the doctor said, “Suppose I go and inspect your quarters right now, what am I going to see?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m starting to think I might just need to pull you in for a psych eval.” This wasn’t an idle threat. “Just because I’m originally a GP from Georgia doesn’t mean I don’t know how to see the complexities of your professional and private lives colliding.”

“It’s not up for discussion. End of subject.” Kirk wasn’t shaken by McCoy’s ploy to get him to open up. He got up, stiffly flexed the damaged hand, and sent a look that said, _Don’t you think I’d tell you if I could_?

“I hope you don’t think you’re going to crawl off to your office and spend all night working like that. You need to leave that hand alone for several hours so Christine and I can do a better job of fixing it tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Bones.” A hollow yearning gave his voice a haunted quality.

“G’night, Jim.”

As the captain disappeared from view, McCoy couldn’t help but wonder what he was going to do with that man.

  
  
  
Lid closed over the piano keys, Alton and Sarah gathered with Tralnor, making small talk about their lives. After her tour on Enterprise was up, Sarah was going to Starfleet's School of Medical Sciences in Bethesda, Maryland, to earn an MD before returning to biomedical research in deep space. Alton said he’d found his calling the second he set foot on this silver lady and could never take an assignment that put him on the ground or kept him in one place for too long.

“We’d both been on the ship for two months before we ran into one another on shore leave. I never expected to turn around while waiting in line to ride the Tornado Thunder rollercoaster and see Alton. We’re a lot closer now than we were in high school.” Sarah secured the guitar and slipped her picks into a pocket. “Dr. Tralnor, I noticed they made you take out your earrings too.”

“I removed them.” He had an intense urge to reach up and touch his naked lobes. “There’s no sense in wearing them if I can’t perform Temple duties or officiate ceremonies. It saves me another fight with the dress code administrators.”

“That means you can’t even offer Last Rites, doesn’t it?” Avery revisited his disgust from yesterday.

“No, I can’t.” He drew a deep breath and thought about how a part of his identity had been temporarily stripped away. “But, I can still teach.”

“So,” Avery made one of those twitches that humans get when they’re nervous about asking a question. “If me or Sarah were on the verge of death tomorrow and needed you to help us down the tevahk-yut?”

Tralnor briefly closed his eyes. The Path of Dying was something people their age shouldn’t have to worry about, but they worked and lived on a vessel that took them to some dangerous, deadly places. He always shared as much of his culture, of Vulcan’s broader culture, as he could with his students if only to introduce them to something beyond their terrestrial experience. These two, they’d paid close attention, obviously remembering that T’Kehr Temple Ko-tek’ru Kaylara t’Lyr Saan refused to deny anyone, regardless of their origins, a calm, dignified death. “I’m sorry. I can be with you at your side, but I can’t guide you.”

“It’s okay, we understand.” Sarah said.

“While Tralnor may not be available in that capacity, there is someone on board who is.” Spock entered the conversation.

“I don’t know about you, Sarah, but I’ll pass on ship’s chaplain. He’s a nice person, but it wouldn’t be the same.” Avery was crestfallen. “I think I’d rather go alone.”

Spock introduced the woman who’d accompanied him to the front of the room. “This is Sha’leyen, and she too is a Lyr Saan T’Kehr.”

“Now that I know there is a need for such assistance, we must meet and make some arrangements.” Sha’leyen shook their hands.

“Is it also possible to go farther working on breaking through to the s’thaupi?” Avery ventured.

Tralnor felt a mild flick to his left hand. (Yes, Spock?) “That is something I can work with you on while I’m here.”

(What exactly are you teaching your students?)

As Sha’leyen volunteered to take the pair on after Tralnor departed. He replied, (I show the basics of proper meditation and mood modulation to everyone as a way to overcome performance anxiety and boost concentration skills. It's part of how I build competent musicians and young people who are resilient under pressure. There are occasionally those who want to know more.)

(Is it possible to get human psi-nulls into a deep enough trance to come close to the Beyond State, let alone actually into it?)

(It’s rare, but it can be done. For these two, the way to get there is through music.) Again, Tralnor shook hands with Avery. Sarah held back, claiming she needed to wash her hands after playing her friend’s sticky guitar.

(I need you to go through T’Pau’s letter again with me. Meet me in an hour.)

  
  
  
McCoy, his face fixed in a sort of half-grimace, could not get Jim’s, he didn’t know if it was a proper outburst, behavior out of his mind. The captain was, by his very nature, the kind of person who flew by the seat of his pants, reacting to situations and stimuli in an instinctual manner. That was not to say Jim didn’t have a brain, he was a smart guy, but whatever was going on, it was at a level that was less rational and more primal than his usual function.

An interior chain reaction of cutting emotion exploded somewhere today, and for that, a wall got its bell rung. What if next time it wasn’t a wall or even a stationary object? McCoy didn’t want to see whatever this was progress beyond this level.

He dragged his hand down his face, tired after another day of a job well done. One last fleeting thought before sleep hauled him away was that he’d ask Spock if Jim seemed off.

  
  
  
Information on Melbek III lay pushed aside. Kirk simply could not concentrate on anything to do with this assignment. Yes, he was curious to know what that twelve-percent unknown on the planet’s surface was, but it didn’t seem important, not when he had pages and pages of Spock and Mollie’s citations to pour over.

Dozens of papers, two books, various chapters, they started racking up publishing credits as teens. This was in addition to the things they put out alone or with other colleagues.

“She’s got you outgunned in every way, Jimmy.” He said to himself. “Why can’t you just be happy for Spock?”

  
  
  
“Right here, she’s referring to a vessel in the sense that it’s an item that contains another item.” Spock pointed out the line.

“. . . _permanently ensconced_. . .” Tralnor read ahead. “It’s hard to tell if she means what’s inside this thing can’t come out, or the item itself is hidden away.”

  
  
  


They contemplated possible locations for this thing, creating a list of four candidates. They guessed the size was approximately that of a shoebox, or at least no bigger than one. Tralnor tapped on a word. “If we look at the archaic meaning of muhs, in the T’lingShar tradition, and use ‘distillation’ instead of the modern accepted ‘vapor,’ this vessel harbors concentrated ill-will. It’s not much of a description, but it’s something to start with.”

Spock was not wholly convinced. Tralnor was reaching. “‘Vapor,’ in this context may simply mean that. What if this is an ancient chemical weapon?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Tralnor’s inflection, the way he looked center, right, then up, his physical bearing, all reminded Spock of Mollie. He wasn’t as animated, and her incredibly expressive facial displays only flickered deep below the surface, the resemblance was oddly comforting. “I wish we had access to Dehline. She’d set us straight, fast.”

An archaeologist working the remains of pre-Reform Old Lyr Saan City, Dehline was an accidental expert on what she called Artifacts of Malice. Spock wished they could contact her too.

“She’s my mother’s cousin, so it’s reasonable that I’d want to speak with her.” Tralnor said, giving Spock a measure of hope that an accurate interpretation would fast set them on their way. “Except, she’s working up on the western slopes of the Izhau-kulan Mountains. There’s still so much radioactive fallout up there that communication is nearly impossible. She’s not due back for two months, and when she gets home, she’s got to spend three weeks in decontamination.”

“Perhaps there are others whom you know that can be discreet? Should word get back to T’Pau and she finds I have enlisted aid from more than one ‘suitable individual,’ there will be repercussions.” Spock didn’t like being given a task and finding himself immediately hamstrung.

“I’m going to have to think on that. Trick is to find someone who’s willing to help but doesn’t get too interested as to why we’re seeking that information.”

“Your Uncle Sonreke?”

Tralnor shook his head. “No. The first thing he’ll do is talk to my mother. I don’t suppose there’s anything at all hidden away in Enterprise’s computer banks?”

“Negative.”

They stared at the letter until fifty-two seconds into that silent observation when Spock was paged down to the brig. Lt. Seltun had something to say.

  
  
  
  
"Tiny Dancer" from the album Rocket Man · Copyright: Writer(s): Elton John, Bernie Taupin


	7. Chapter 7

The pile of miniature chocolate chip cookies on Billy the Sixth’s pull-out night stand grew as bets rolled in. O’Dell and Gupta faced off as the final hands standing. The last contributions hit the pot.

“Let’s see ‘em, fellas.” Billy said, reaching into the pot to munch one of the little sweeties.

“Get your fat paws out of my cookies.” O’Dell lay his cards down, revealing a pair of aces and a pair of tens.

“ _Shit_.” Gupta drawled. He’d bluffed along on a pair of twos and lost. “I really wanted those. Another hand?”

“You wish.” O’Dell stuffed two of the treats in his mouth and crunched. “So good. _Mmmm_.”

“Hey, Dr. Tralnor. You could have beat us all with a random shit hand. Why didn’t you?” Billy barely moved fast enough to liberate one more cookie before O’Dell slapped his hand and swept them up.

“You people are the definition of poker face.” O’Dell sat back on his bunk to admire his hoard.

“Because those are shitty cookies.” Tralnor let them laugh. “I’d play to the end if they were fresh or made with one or two real ingredients. From what I can taste of them on the air, I’d rather eat a scented candle.”

O’Dell’s face retained its feline smile. “You’re just jealous.”

“ _Lt. Commander Tralnor, you are needed at the brig_.” Ship’s intercom stopped the lighthearted exchange.

“I think the Krampus has had enough time to realize what a _twat_ he’s been.”

“I believe you’re right, Billy.” Tralnor put his boots and uniform tunic back on. He opened the door to leave the cabin and hesitated. “To get to the brig, does the turbolift take you straight there or do I need to know the deck first?”

The guys laughed again, Rohit coming up for air first, said, “You must have slept through your training cruise.”

“ _This is my training cruise_.”

  
  
  
Lt. Seltun bristled when Tralnor arrived. Spock was trying to help this promising young officer keep his career from derailing, but if this was the way he’d continue to behave, perhaps last night’s lashing out was the first step to an early discharge.

Seltun forced the tension from his shoulders, reclaiming his equilibrium. “Lt. Commander Tralnor, I wish to apologize for my poor behavior. What I said and the actions I undertook were uncalled for.”

“If this were a civilian matter, I’d ask law enforcement to drop the charges.” Tralnor said.

Shifting in his seat, Seltun refused to look Tralnor in the eye. Spock, as the one used to being on the receiving end of this brand of disdain, was for once considered part of the collective rather than the Other.

“The officers at your disciplinary hearing tomorrow will consider Tralnor’s opinion on this incident.” Spock, becoming familiar with outer margins of Tralnor’s telepathic aura, picked up the filaments of earlier conversation, and due to their physical proximity, did not need a skin-on-skin nudge to reinitialize speech. (Are you certain, Tralnor? Seltun is not sincere and merely wishes to look out for himself.)

(I know.)

(What is the reason you recommend leniency?)

(The only person Seltun is a threat to is Seltun. Watch him observe us. He knows we’re having a conversation, our hands folded on the table in front of us. He’s both repulsed and intrigued.) Tralnor addressed the unnerved lieutenant. “In my tenure as a teacher, I see again and again that young people can and do make mistakes no matter how hard they strive to show their skills and maturity to those around them. A mistake is a learning experience and in most situations, rectifiable. It is my wish that you use this encounter with me as a stepping off point to becoming a more complete and tolerant individual.”

“Yes, Sir.” Seltun said.

(He wasn’t just attacking me last night. Seltun was lashing out at himself.) “I accept your apology, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Spock dismissed Tralnor and was left with this person, perplexed as to why Seltun reviled the Lyr Saan teacher and not the blatant half-breed first officer? Did Seltun indeed perceive Tralnor as a threat to life and limb? Was he merely a bigot? Spock’s family was one of prestige, did he believe an amenable working relationship with his divisional commander was a throughway to higher social standing? What possible explanation was there for such comportment?

  
  
  
The second ping registered in Kirk’s brain. He pulled his thoughts together and told whoever was at the door to come in, not bothering to check who it was first. This being his office rather than his private quarters, he was less picky about came to visit.

“I had expected to find you on deck three, captain.”

That voice filling the air made Kirk’s brain glow and butterflies in his gut convulse. “I’ve been boning up on Melbek.”

Spock’s keen eye went to the damaged hand. The Vulcan was too polite just to come out and ask, so Kirk decided to ignore it for the time being. “Is this business or pleasure?”

A brow elevated, questioning the phrase Kirk chose. The captain liked to think this was a little game the two of them played. He’d say some earth colloquialism, Spock, who may or may not know what it actually meant, feigned ignorance, and it gave them an excuse to break the ice and ease into the actual matters at hand.

“Did you just want to see me or is this work related?” Kirk indicated that he sit down and quit hovering by the door. He wanted to look into his eyes, level, and indulge. Even though Spock belonged to Mollie, Kirk could be forgiven for a bit of visual indiscretion.

“It is both.”

While the physical space between them was less than a meter, the divide seemed never-ending. Those long, elegant fingers had on occasions before, met with the right locations on Kirk’s face, giving him a teasing taste of the true Spock. . .

“It is Lt. Seltun, Sir. He is a geothermal and tectonics expert who is part of my geology department.”

“He’s the one who put Dr. Tralnor in sick bay?”

“The same.”

Kirk listened to information on Seltun’s request to talk to Spock. Yeah, he agreed that the lieutenant was out to cover his own ass, but who wasn’t when that sort of shit went down? He was not surprised in the slightest that Tralnor would let the whole incident go. So far, there was nothing to suggest Spock needed Kirk’s input on the situation. The disciplinary panel was fair, and Seltun would likely get another night in the brig before he was cut loose and returned to Enterprise’s normal routine.

When the description of the emotional and intellectual motive of this meeting began, Kirk understood. Spock never quite got the hang of how people ticked, even if one of those people was a fellow Vulcan. “I think you’re right, Spock. He sees you as the so-called lesser of two evils. I also agree with Tralnor, Seltun doesn’t come off as a real threat. Keep a close watch on him, certainly, but I don’t feel like he’s a risk.”

Kirk blinked heavily, thinking about the implications of a life lived at the bottom of a midden made up of the harsh words and actions of dogmatic contemporaries, only to have that demerit against you dismissed because something supposedly more heinous was out there. How were you supposed to feel about that?

There was Kirk supposed, two responses. One came from the captain. The second, a message from a concerned friend. Both ultimately came to the same conclusions, treat Seltun as you would any other lower ranking officer, and refuse to engage him when he wanted to invoke any us vs. them attempts at social climbing.

And as far as Spock’s emotional response to this sudden inclusion? This was where Kirk wanted to speak out and stand up against those who’d exploit this beautiful man to their own ends. He’d go to ends of the universe, farther if he had to, so he might protect his friend.

 _You have no idea how much I want to touch you, Spock, and make you a part of me. Oh, how I wish_. . .

  
  
  
Spock left Kirk’s office and stopped to clench and unclench his throbbing hand. What had Jim done, and why was this injury, as opposed to many more severe over the years, manifesting sensation in Spock’s body? Fire radiated up his arm and into his neck, following a network of nerve fibers that didn’t correspond to his anatomy. His knuckles were cold, fingers stiff.

Upon entry to his personal abode, Spock took up his place in front of the asenoi. He’d meditate until he got this phantom pain under control.

  
  
  
The Enterprise glided into the Melbek system as McCoy finished the reconstruction on Jim’s hand and the ship threw itself into the scientific side of its mission, graphing, charting, analyzing its way from the outermost planetoids up until taking orbit around Melbek III.

Christine tried to ask why the captain had an injury most commonly seen in bare-knuckle fighters, but the doctor was as short on details with her as Jim was with him. He closed the wound and cleared the field for her to take over and pull the drapes and machinery before moving Jim into recovery.

“Let me know when he comes around.” McCoy said before retreating to his office to start a dictation into Jim’s medical files.

“Yes, Dr. McCoy.”

As he cued up Jim’s records and initiated the part of the software that recorded his voice and transcribed it into text, he made a notation in a section of the file only he had means of accessing and typed in, _Consultation with expert scheduled at 1330, re: patient’s recent mental health hx._

  
  
  
“Sensor sweep initiated, Sir.” Lt. Hadley said from Spock’s usual perch at the science station.

Spock had center stage this morning as the captain was undergoing a minor medical procedure. This meant he feigned a measure of executive disinterest when he wanted to see those first readings sweep over his screens and set off the gears in his analytical brain. That aspect of his job was never so important as he found himself mired in stifled feelings toward Jim, T’Pau’s errand—which he still could not intuit in a sensical manner—, and his interaction with Seltun.

Lt. Hadley started throwing numbers and readings out. Spock found her voice grating but filed everything she said away for use later, when he got the opportunity to view the raw data firsthand. Melbek III’s promise of geologic intrigue fell short when the previously unknown components of the planet’s crust were quickly revealed as sensor malfunctions on behalf of the survey team. That missing twelve percent was surface iron ore deposits.

The shift progressed uneventfully until he went down to sick bay. He arrived in time to witness Jim trying to swindle his way out of light duty restrictions. Light hair, bright eyes, little boy smile, Spock could bask in these qualities like another being might seek out the sun at the beach.

“Tell him, Spock. I can’t aggravate my owie if I’m just doing the boring administrative parts of my job.”

“Boring and administrative mean different things to the both of us, Jim. If you were anyone else, I’d probably let you finish out today, but I know you.”

“Bones, please.” Kirk’s charm offensive, while so successful in other arenas, fell flat with the doctor. “We’re hanging out around an out-of-the-way, uninhabited planet that’s not going to have me mediating between warring tribes, trying to destabilize an active volcano’s magma chamber, or otherwise swinging from the chandeliers. What do you say?”

“Rest, Jim.” McCoy gave one of his stubborn smiles that said he wasn’t about to give an inch.

The captain refocused his playful, pleading expression on Spock. _Imagine waking up to find that face_? “I must agree with the doctor.”

“And there’s nothing I could tempt you with to you to change your mind?” Jim started backing down and winding in the charisma, reverting to his proper Starfleet form.

“Rest.” McCoy said. “You can read reports and follow along from the terminal in your quarters.

“Fine.” He relented. If he didn’t take what he could get right now, he’d find himself spending the next twenty-four hours in sick bay. He decided to make his escape.

“What is it you wanted to know, Doctor?”

“Does Jim seem _off_ to you lately?”

 _Define what you’re asking_ , Spock thought. Humans, as a species, were “off.”

“Is this regarding his hand injury?”

“Sort of.” McCoy ground his jaw into the temporomandibular joints, causing muscles on the sides of his head to twitch. “Look, I’m going to just come out and say what I’m thinking.”

“As you always do, Doctor.” Spock expected McCoy to bite back but didn’t get the classic contra-coup.

“I think the captain is in a jam and he can’t figure a way out.” McCoy silenced a page from physical therapy. “He’s in a bad relationship, Spock, I’m sure of it. But he refuses to say anything so far.”

Piqued, Spock questioned how McCoy came to the conclusion Jim was, a) seeing someone, and b) the union had gone sour. The evidence the suspicious yet excitable doctor presented started out to Spock as a random collection of hunches and suppositions, but the more McCoy talked it out, the more it made sense to someone who saw the world in such emotional terms. Jim was moody, withdrawn, and belligerent in ways that corresponded to previous bad breakups the doctor had seen him through.

“Captain Kirk is not seeing anyone at this time.” Spock said authoritatively. He’d know if there was anyone in the captain’s bed.

“So, what? He’s this heartsick over nothing?”

Spock had no way of knowing, though it concerned him greatly, why Jim was dealing with inner demons, without applying the same kind of friendly pressure McCoy tried and failed at. Whether employing the doctor’s buddy approach or a more rational excavation of details, until Jim was ready to divulge his secret, the situation remained at loggerheads.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to the media lab sending him around the ship to pick up and drop off various orders and returns, Tralnor started to feel like his bunk-mates might stop teasing him about not knowing where anything was at. It took about a week before he could competently plot out the correct routes to take if called to general quarters.

Day five scouring the Melbek system, and the whole crew cocooned into a rare lull. Melbek III was not poisonous, the native flora and fauna didn’t have a freakish lust for human blood, no new elements bubbled up through tectonic seams.

Just finishing a run to the thermophile lab, Tralnor pushed his empty trolly back toward Chavez’s empire. When he returned, he’d join a group of crewmen in pouring another five-hundred gel slabs for Melbek III’s mountains of DNA analyses. He started thinking about a more efficient way to set up the pouring stations when someone he didn’t know popped his head out a doorway and caught his attention.

“Sha’leyen wants to give you a tour of her domain while Chavez has you off his leash.”

“Only if you let me drag the war wagon along.” Tralnor said.

“So long as you don’t ditch us with it when you go. That sucker reeks.”

Bioarchaeological Xenoanthropology, or bioarch as everyone called it, was yet another sleek, ultra-modern scientific facility. His former bondmate had done well.

“I’m glad to see you could get away.” Sha’leyen turned around from one of the dozen tables set up in the main area, leaving an assistant with the bleached skeleton of some quadrupedal animal. “We don’t always have humanoid remains to work with. On planets like Melbek III, bioarch offers a secondary report, and sometimes an entirely different interpretation of remains, for zoology, ecology, and molecular bio. This is our gross examination area. The biohazard doors to your left connect to our decomp rooms, which come in especially handy when we’re in the unfortunate position to examine mass murders or genocide.”

Tralnor didn’t think such a place existed, but there was one location on Enterprise that likely stank worse than the media lab, therefore he was not asking to see inside the spaces where decomposed bodies met scientific and legal inquiry.

“If you come this way,” Sha’leyen made no move like she wanted to take him beyond the biohazard signs. They went to an adjoining room, this one home to more traditional lab benches and microscopes. “And on the benches without the fume hoods, we do any ultra-fine screen shaking that’s impractical in the field. If there is other any cleaning needed, it’s done here as well before moving over to the more sophisticated set-ups.”

Down a short interior hall, three more spaces branched off. One hosted two officers carefully reconstructing a fragile-looking skull from a vaguely humanoid entity. She rattled off a quick description of the ongoing work on remains from last month’s stop at a planet called DoFerrin Olteq.

The next room off the hall housed a number of partitioned computer terminals where those not senior enough to merit their own office space did their report writing and database research. A third room wasn’t a room as such. It was a repository for specimen cabinets and machinery that was used in the field. This space functioned mostly as an unofficial thruway to yet another module in Sha’leyen’s rabbit warren.

“There is a supposedly right way to traverse this department, which does nothing more than take you to the wrong place or deposit you firmly underfoot to interrupt someone else’s work. Engineering hates what we’ve done, but they understand. When this girl gets her refit, I already have the architectural plans drawn up for how I want this place organized.”

They stood in the curators’ realm, where every specimen got catalogued and preserved for posterity. This room had a natural history museum feel to it. Curation connected on to bioarch’s diagnostic imaging suite. “This way we don’t have to wait for time on sick bay’s machines or leave medicine without its vital tools.”

Yet another back corridor sent them past the storeroom where all the finished items from curation awaited their eventual off-loading. An equipment cache and a cluster of small offices passed to the wayside. The very last stop was Sha’leyen’s office.

“I painted the walls five years ago. Strictly against the regs, but I needed something more cheerful and less like the interior of my ex-husband’s house.” She offered Tralnor the choice of a chair or one end of a lumpy purple loveseat. He stayed on his feet.

The walls were a very pale lavender-blue, what he could see of them that wasn’t festooned with overflowing bookshelves, filing cabinets, or plaques extolling her selfless service to the ‘fleet. Like he did in most all rooms that contained real bound books, Tralnor read as many spines as he set eyes on.

“My officers say I’m quaint. I try telling them I come from a place where paper books were our data padds.” She sat on the edge of her desk. “All that matters is I find them useful.”

“I love books.” Tralnor paused his scan of the titles and moved to a cluster that caught his attention. He recognized an old pre-Reform dialect. “These are on some of the trickier parts of Vulcan’s past. How do you even have them? The High Council would suffer a collective heart attack if they knew books of this ilk existed off-planet and were on a Federation ship.”

“If they found out, I’d let them posture all they want. I’m not intimidated by their green-faced blustering. Those books are from my family’s private collection on Belon. They’re mine to do with as I please. I have them with me for the simple fact that you never know what you’re going to find out in the wilds of the stars.” She indicated to the locked filing cabinet closest to the desk. “I keep two more volumes from that particular set away from prying eyes. You need to come back if you want to read them.”

Being staked to a lawn by a logging chain wouldn’t keep him away. Yes, he’d like to find out what these books had to say, but what mattered was the invitation to spend more time with her. “It’s a date.”

The com on her desk didn’t give warning before words started flowing from somewhere within bioarch. “Lt. Commander Reynan, the media lab just called. Chavez wants his minion back.”

“Reynan?” Tralnor asked, delaying the inevitable.

“When I finally escaped Belon for good, I needed a surname, something to more easily fit in with the people I wished to hide amongst.”

“But you don’t seem to use it.”

“Not for much. The kid who just called, he’s a greenhorn, and I can’t break him of the habit.” She stood and reluctantly herded Tralnor back into the gross examination room via a hidden panel in that last hallway.

“What does it mean?” Tralnor reunited with his supply cart. “Your name?”

“I don’t know yet. One of these years, I’ll think of something.”

Lt. Chavez shook his head as Tralnor made his return. The uptight whirlwind of envious affectivity left what he was doing to intercept the Vulcan. Tralnor held up for whatever tongue-lashing or snide comment was coming. A consultation of the clock on the wall above Chavez’s head showed as Tralnor knew, he still had fifteen minutes before he’d needed to report back to the media lab.

“You know, Dr. Tralnor,” Chavez took great delight in not using Tralnor’s rank, “not all of us have the luxury of visiting our girlfriends over in bioarch while on duty.”

Chavez thought he was the smartest, toughest, and most attractive man in the room. _I asked her out first! Me_! Tralnor caught that bitter little pill and figured it best to nip this bud before it turned into a noxious weed.

“You’re right. I should have come directly back here when I was done with the people at thermophile lab.”

“Yes?” Chavez practically crowed. Could it be that this obliviously handsome Vulcan, who was making every head on the entire ship turn, might concede and stay the hell out of Chavez’s way to Sha’leyen?

“I was asked by Lt. Commander Sha’leyen to view the bioarchaeology department. I knew I had the time and complied with her request.”

“ _Oh._ . .but that’s not an excuse.” Chavez added, finally ready to turn Tralnor loose.

“Lt. Chavez, you need to know this.”

“What is that, Dr. Tralnor?”

Tralnor had difficulty choosing the verb tense he wanted. “Lt. Commander Sha’leyen is my bondmate.”

The blustery media lab boss could not hide the disgust and utter confusion boiling up. “That’s not possible.”

“As is customary, our families arranged our betrothal, and we were bonded at the age of seven.” Tralnor was not going to elaborate. By telling a version of the truth, he’d save Sha’leyen from Chavez’s amorous pursuit.

“She’s not Vulcan.” Chavez looked around for someone to back him up. None of his alienated staff could be bothered. They were having too much fun watching the boss get what was coming to him. “ _Sha’leyen’s not Vulcan_.”

“She’s from Belon.” Tralnor’s thoughts immediately went to her personal library. “It’s a pre-Reform colony world that’s never completely fallen out of touch with Vulcan. Belonites share our biology, a common language tree, a virtually identical pantheon of gods and spiritual customs, and they still operate the same ancient trade routes as established thousands of years ago.”

Chavez crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have gel slabs to pour?”

  
  
  
Captain Kirk’s attitude toward his Vulcan first officer wasn’t strained per-say, but it had cooled, backsliding their relationship to something more in-line with when they’d finally gotten comfortable working with one another all those years ago. Kirk knew if he didn’t keep Spock at arm’s length, he’d fuck things up completely.

Yes, they could be friends. He vowed to be satisfied with a solid working relationship and buddies who play chess and put-put golf sort of friendship. He could do that.

The pictures and reports coming up on Melbek III made the place sound ideal for a vacation cabin. Woods and mountains pervaded on the interior of the planet’s two continents while the edges of the land meeting the ocean went from equatorial tropical beaches to rocky crags encrusted with hoar-frost closer to the poles.

He’d like to go down, camp for a few nights, alone, and mourn for this, whatever it was, that died in its pre-embryonic stage. His one-sided fight with the wall had him on the injured-reserve list. No landing parties this time around.

“Captain Kirk.”

 _Yes, my love_? He said to himself. “What is it, Spock?”

“Dendrology is examining a forest on the northwestern shores of a freshwater lake located on the forty-fifth parallel, approximately 2,000 kilometers inland from the western ocean.”

“That’s one fancy tree.” Kirk said as an image filled the view screen.

“Captain.” One of the scientists waved to the camera then pointed to the gleaming thing behind her. “There’s more to the surveyor’s unknown twelve-percent than we thought.”

“Go on.” Kirk could not take his eyes off this. . .it had obelisk-like features but was obviously a natural geological phenomenon. Glacier blue, it appeared to glow when the clouds parted, and sunshine hit it.

“Some of what our sensors picked up as run-of-the-mill iron ore, Sir.” She didn’t pause for dramatic effect, she was experiencing raw disbelief. “It’s diamonds.”

“ _Diamonds?_ ” Kirk’s gut heaved. “That thing behind you?”

“From what our tricorders are telling us, we’re only seeing part of it. It’s supposed to be the size of two train cars placed end-to-end and as big around as two train cars sitting side-by-side.”

 _Great_ , Kirk thought. _Our perfect little planet has decided to lob a spanner in the works_.

“Sir, we have at least two more of these stones within visual range.”

Kirk turned the foresters back over to Spock while he called up security to immediately establish a cordon and monitoring for Melbek III. With two days supposedly left on this particular assignment, Enterprise would be stuck babysitting this find until Starfleet could send out patrol ships.

Once word got out, Melbek III was going to be popular.

  
  
  
Since Rec Room 2 was the place where all the hepcats hung out in the evenings, Kirk suggested they take their chess game and see what all the hubbub was about.

Spock took a seat, still pondering the meaning of hepcat. He gleaned an idea from the context but was unsure if the comment had something to do with animals.

(Hello, Spock.) Tralnor said, back turned, from the piled table he’d claimed as his own on the other side of the room. (It feels like the captain is with you.)

(Yes, he is.) Spock throttled down his emotional output. Nothing showed on his face as was his custom. Even the most masterful Vulcans couldn’t read behind his eyes without a meld, and he didn’t have anything to prove to Tralnor.

(Don’t be ashamed, Spock.)

He’d forgotten what this was like, to not be judged for every thought or action. (Tralnor, I—)

(Jim Kirk doesn’t judge you either.)

“You’re quiet tonight.” Jim said, putting the finishing pieces on the chessboard.

“I was just thinking.”

“One of these days.” He briefly flashed that smile, the one that left Spock a little weak in the knees. “I’d like to hop in there and see what exactly is going on in that head of yours.”

Solo violin broke the din of chatter, plunging the room into respectful silence. Attention turned away from their chess match, Spock watched for the precise moment Tralnor’s brain hit the peculiar switching station that sent him into a full meditative trance. Something about the music pushed him there. It never lasted for long, but it was enough to smooth over any frayed edges resulting from stress during the day. Mollie could do the same thing. It was an odd MacCormack trait the family taught to their children as a way to ground themselves.

Song over, Tralnor opened his eyes and returned to the present before taking a short bow and inviting Alton Avery and Sarah David up to the performance area.

“That was really something.” Jim said. “He’s a hell of a musician, but part of me wonders why you’ve got this guy here?”

“I assure you, he is an instrumental and a vital part to one of my current projects.” Spock caught Jim’s eyes and decided they reminded him something of aspen leaves, green and gray, flickering in an autumnal sunset with the help of a light breeze, and then a bit of blue where the sky shone through the canopy above.

Jim met Spock’s gaze, and Spock read a sliver of the loss and grief the captain insisted on keeping to himself. Perhaps McCoy was right, Jim was despondent because of a rocky break-up. Spock didn’t know if he trusted that diagnosis.


	9. Chapter 9

_One of you has to reach out first. Why not you_? Mollie’s words fed into a constant loop in Spock’s semiconsciousness. On the verge of sleep, the moment he nodded off, she was back, insisting that he take the initiative. He was unable to dislodge her from his head.

Sitting up in bed, he was certain time with the asenoi, focusing deep, working on even breathing, and structured thoughts about the principles of Vulcan logic would banish Mollie’s specter. He made for his closet as to don a meditation robe.

 _Why not you_?

Two steps off from where he’d intended to go, he did an about face and emerged into the hallway. He let his feet lead the way. Jim’s quarters were not far from his own. That was good, the short distance gave him less time to think of backing out.

“What is it, Spock? Is Lt. Seltun acting up again?” Jim leaned against the doorframe and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“No, I—” Spock’s ability to form cogent thoughts and send those words out seized. He was trying to address Jim but was only capable of communicating with Captain Kirk.

Jim gave no indication of taking his leave. Wistful thoughts crossed behind hazel eyes. “Come in. There’s not much sense in you standing out there in the hall.”

 _Jim_! “Captain, Dr. McCoy has some concerns in regard to your well-being.”

A doleful fog settled around Jim. “So, Bones sent you on a fishing expedition, did he?”

“I fail to see what the act of catching fish has to do with your health.”

Jim’s shoulders slackened. That sort of retort usually sent a flash of a smile to the human’s face. “Nothing, Spock, absolutely nothing. . . Can I get you something to drink?”

 _Spock, don’t be an idiot, say yes_! The idea of Mollie shouted inside his skull. “No thank you, Captain.”

Tumbler out on the desk, Jim poured himself a finger of a dark amber spirit. He swirled the liquor, releasing aromatic elements into the air, and knocked it back.

“ _Phew_.” Jim rapidly blinked and wrinkled his nose. “It’s a good thing you said no. This stuff of Bones gave me last year is more like paint thinner than anything I’ve tasted this side Riverside High’s Secret Senior Kegger.”

“The injury to your hand was self-inflicted.”

“If all you’re going to do is stand there and parrot McCoy’s unfounded accusations, the door is right there.” He served himself some more alcohol and made a shooing motion.

  
  
  
Tralnor reread a passage for flow and clarity, scrolling up and down the screen to compare it with the rest of the work it was from. He placed a note in the text asking the author to cite all of their sources. Adding up points scored for fluent response to the prompt, works cited, length, thesis statement, and conclusion, the author scored a seventy-two percent. He wrote a few comments he doubted this particular student would bother to read and entered the grade into his records.

(I’m just marking term papers for Critical Studies 411. _Film, Television, and Cultural Studies_ , is the only film class I teach with any regularity, and this was the first time in five semesters I got to be at the helm.) Tralnor immediately started talking the moment Spock showed up on his radar. Yes, it was a distraction technique, but Spock needed something to unlock his mental jaws from a rising welt. (There’s no one else here besides me.)

 _At nearly one in the morning_ , Tralnor corrected himself, _at nearly 0100, this place is dead, which is good because I’d never get anything done otherwise._

Not black, but blackened like something smothered in soot after a petroleum fire, Spock’s mood preceded him by some distance. (I made a grave misjudgment.)

Hailstones, each a separate self-admonishment, pinged and dented against Tralnor. Spock’s frenetic thoughts flew faster than the barely acknowledged emotion hanging in the air. (Sit down beside me so I can see you.)

Spock complied, taking the chair pushed up to the side of the desk brought in for Tralnor to use. (I am falling apart. My feelings are threatening to consume me whole, and that is entirely unacceptable.)

(Do you know why my family sent me to earth for my initial university studies?) Tralnor closed out of the online undergraduate course portal and focused his attention directly on Spock.

(Because Mollie was there to keep a sisterly eye on you?)

(That was a perk, but not the reason.)

(You did not need to seek people you hoped would accept you.)

(White noise.) Tralnor said. (Humans, groups of them, save for extraordinary circumstances, produce the empathic equivalent of white noise. Yes, the odd one here or there comes in too clear, giving me something of a mouthful of soap, but unless I’m with a small gathering, interacting with individuals, or seeking out specific brains, humans are a dull roar in the background.)

( _White noise_?) Spock, lacking the burden of a mair-rigolauya, was extremely aware of humans’ outward emotional reactions to everything in their lives. A good cup of coffee might elicit the identical outburst as earning a coveted promotion or having a significant other accept a marriage proposal. Jostled and bumped along through the crowd, touch telepathy his strength, he psionically experienced human emotion as shivs, small weapons secreted away until ruthlessly stabbed into his vulnerable psyche. His complete adherence to the traditional Vulcan way of avoiding physical contact acted two-fold, as a defense mechanism and a cultural norm.

(I forced myself through a process of habituation, taking those four years and learning how to handle humans’ constant flow of almost entirely uncontrolled mental energy by grounding what’s sent my way. I can shake hands with people like Alton and Sarah, emerging entirely unscathed because I can defer and shield against the thoughts and feelings that cross over.) Tralnor drained the last sip of a long-gone cold cup of coffee. (That nasty sensation you get when some random human grabs onto you?)

(I know it well.)

(Pour kerosene on that then add TNT to the flames. That is what walking down the streets in ShiKhar is like for me. They wear their proper blank expressions when behind their eyes are the emotions they still experience and keep tucked away. They follow the rules, tracing Surak’s teachings, and adhere to the ways that allow our society to function. Your misgivings because you have a deep attachment to Jim Kirk aren’t the sign of weakness you think they are.)

 _If we are so much alike in that regard, why do they despise me so_? Spock’s question bubbled at the surface of his mind.

Tralnor responded as though Spock’s introspection was directed as an inquiry to a T’Kehr. (You’re better at this than the grand majority of the Vulcan public at large. For that, they perceive you as a threat.)

(I must point out how illogical that sentiment is.)

(To you, to others like them, unless there is a direct physical and mental connection, that bombarding affectivity I described is immediately imperceptible.) Tralnor opened a drawer, removed a tin, then pulled the lid off. Nestled in paper muffin cups, short stacks of pecan shortbreads greeted them. (They’re not as good as your mother’s. Coffee?)

(No, thank you. I have never developed a taste for coffee.) Spock took a biscuit and bit into a memory.

Tralnor wandered next door to the officer’s mess, refilled his empty mug, and selected the only tea he thought Spock might like. Back at his desk, he’d half expected to see he’d been left alone, but the other Vulcan remained. Steamy beverages set down, he said, (Someone I work with baked these for me as a going-away present. Don’t let anyone know I’ve got them. I get the idea such confections are rare aboard Enterprise and worth fighting for.)

(Humans have a primordial need for sugar that I do not comprehend.) Spock took his tea and watched the steam rise.

(It’s a function of their brain stems. They’re not much evolved from their cave-dwelling ancestors and unknowingly spend their entire lives catering to basic survival instincts. Food, protection, sleep, reproduction. . .) Tralnor dunked a shortbread and waxed poetic to himself about the mingled flavors and textures. (Vulcans are not much farther down the line. Logic has become the primary way that we protect ourselves, and we all strive to better our controls for the collective good of the species.

(Ultimately, we all experience passion, sadness, pride, and self-doubt. Its what we choose to do with those feelings, how we express them, integrate them into our daily lives, or ignore them, that determines the level to which we are accepted by mainstream society.) Tralnor took a second shortbread, offered another to Spock, then hid the tin away.

(Unless you are like us.)

( _Here’s to threats to the status quo_.) Tralnor replied and raised his mug in a mock toast.

(Do you choose to spend most of your time living and working on earth because of this white noise phenomena?)

(No. Earth was simply where I got the better offer of employment. As a single parent, there were details I had to keep in mind that would not have weighed on my decision had I been unmarried and childless.) Now that this exchange had worked itself back toward the opening topic and Spock was more or less comfortable speaking with him, Tralnor asked, (What do you consider a grave misjudgment?)

(I said some things that will drive him away.) Spock’s eyes focused on something in the past.

Tralnor found that claim hard to believe, not with the radiant love that poured off Kirk when Spock was near. Tralnor could come straight out and tell Spock about this, but the first officer was precisely the kind of honorable man who’d consider such information an unfair advantage. Unless asked directly, Tralnor chose to keep such details to himself. (Spock, you aren’t the kind of person who says or does anything that’s deliberately malicious. You never have been. Whatever you said, Kirk knows what kind of man you are, and he’s smart enough to realize you aren’t out to harm him or the relationship you’ve got.)

(You are too kind in your assessment, Tralnor.) Spock stood and grabbed his mug. (I have taken too much of your time. You need to get back to what you were doing.)

With that, Tralnor was alone once more.

  
  
  
The whole planet was impregnated with giant fucking diamonds. All the massive stones that the geology teams examined were of exquisite quality, internally flawless, ranging from colorless to fancy hues, and each one was of a carat weight that was off the scales.

Kirk worded his latest message about Melbek III’s bounty to Starfleet Command in urgent terms. He wanted to get away from this place as fast as Enterprise could warp off into the distance. That little voice that warned of death and danger refused to stop screaming. The more those internal cries reverberated around the inside of his skull, the more confident he was of trouble the longer his ship remained in orbit.

He stopped short of demanding patrol ships relieve Enterprise, but his insistence that the Federation get their asses out here and nail things down was evident. He’d already spent part of the morning working with his security guys on a contingency plan they could send back to San Francisco and save Headquarters from their own bureaucracy.

Someone was listening, sniffing around, sharpening their claws. Even the most encrypted communiques were intercepted and broken. Crew ran their mouths when they shouldn’t. A black cloud was rolling toward Melbek III.  
  
  
  
Department heads gathered in the conference room so everyone was on the same page about this insane discovery on Melbek III. All landing parties were returning to Enterprise by 1500 and the ship would go to Yellow Alert. They were instructed to report anything untoward or suspicious.

“I don’t want any of you, or your subordinates, in a situation where your lives are on the line over a pile of sparkly rocks. Play it cool until our relief arrives.” Kirk reiterated.

Heads nodded, but that didn’t give the captain the comfort of being entirely sure they understood just how precarious their situation was. Sure, they were used to Klingons raising hell and Romulans trying to shoot their asses off for no reason, but this was greed they were going up against.

Lt. Uhura’s soothing voice came over the intercom and let Kirk know one of the talking heads at Starfleet Command was patched through to his office. Department heads dismissed, he went to take his call, but not before an odd thing happened.

People cleared out, leaving he and Spock the only remaining occupants of the conference room. Kirk assumed his first officer wanted to discuss ship’s business with him. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a cranky commodore waiting to flail me in the next room.”

Spock didn’t block the exit as much as he left Kirk no choice but to squeeze past. _What the hell was up with this Vulcan of his_? Was this retribution for sniping at him last night? Yeah, he’d been rough on Spock, mean really, but Bones’ overreaching needed to stop somewhere.

Static electricity snapped against Kirk’s skin where he was forced to make contact with Spock. Tendrils of tingling nerves fed up his left arm and down into his back. Something just happened and there was no name to put to it.

  
  
  


“With all due respect, Captain, I think you’re overreacting to the situation. USS Dragon and USS Seren are about three days out.” Commodore Theodore Sloan, career office boy, shrugged and shook his head like Kirk was crazy.

“They’re three days out at Warp Two. They could be here a lot faster.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re in a quiet sector, and there’s no one around for lightyears. Put your feet up for a little while.” Commodore Sloan smiled. “You’ll thank me for the downtime when we speak again.”

Nothing Kirk said to this man would drive home the danger. He let the idiot commodore sign off, checked that the screen was completely powered down, then flipped the bird to the blank space where Sloan’s face used to be. “We don’t have three days.”


	10. Chapter 10

Two uneventful days passed, giving people a chance to write up all the site reports and accompanying narratives for the Melbek III discoveries. Samples organized, tests run, photos taken, the nitty-gritty work finishing up meant the crew ran the risk of going stir-crazy without something to do. Engineering had the Enterprise at her very best. About the only folks guaranteed something to occupy their time was security, and there wasn’t much going on.

The mood on the bridge was tense. Kirk was wound up because his ship, his crew, was sitting like a duck, waiting to be blown out of the water. Dragon and Seren, originally expected tomorrow, were out two additional days because Commodore Sloan wanted to dick Kirk around.

“Something is watching us.” Kirk said. “Run a scan for any unusual heat signatures or propulsion system ionization.”

Order acknowledged, he waited for results that told him Enterprise was alone out here. _I’m not paranoid_ , he said to himself.

It took another three hours of repeated searches and scans, but an anomaly caught their attention. Kirk immediately knew it was a ship come to raise hell, but he wasn’t granted the clairvoyance to know who the prowling vessel belonged to.

“Captain, thirty degrees starboard.” Chekov said. “A merchant freighter is closing in fast.”

“Uhura, tell them the Melbek system is closed and if they want to take issue with that, they can get ahold of Starfleet Command.” Kirk ordered the main viewer to show the encroaching ship. “She’s packing a lot of extra firepower for a merchant ship.”

“Plasma cannons, three spare banks of photon torpedoes, forward and aft phasers, double reinforced shields, and retrofitted military-grade warp engines.” Sulu read off the sensor report. “Whoever this is, they mean business.”

“No legitimate merchant outfits themselves this way. We might be dealing with pirates.” Kirk hoped that wasn’t the truth. “Uhura, have they said anything yet?”

“No, Sir.” She ran through another sequence of buttons and toggles on her board.

“Mr. Spock, is this boat ringing any memories for you?”

“No, Captain, it does not.”

“Uhura, hail them.” Kirk collected his thoughts and addressed the interlopers. “Merchant vessel, this is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. This system has been declared off-limits to—”

The main screen flashed to life, showing a striking blond woman clothed in skin-tight black leather pants and a sleeveless purple shirt. “Save your breath, Starfleet.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, Captain.” Kirk, upon seeing this person roll her eyes at him, knew this was the black cloud he’d waited for.

Her piercing blue eyes missed nothing. She gazed upon Kirk like he was an annoying little bug she’d just have to come back and squash later. Sulu and Chekov didn’t interest her. Her eyes lingered on Uhura, but her expression offered nothing of what she was thinking. The last person she set her gaze on must have meant something because her face went pale.

“ _Spock_.” She said his name like it burned her tongue. “It’s been a long time. I had hoped that by now you’d have done me the courtesy of being dead.”

“Laura, your presence here is unwarranted.” Spock stood to face her.

She mockingly raised her brows and gave a little shake of her head. “Your mouth is moving, but I’m not hearing anything.”

“It is in your best interest to remove yourself from the Melbek system.” Spock had obviously dealt with this woman in some capacity in the past. “Leave now, and the Federation does not have to know this was your last known location.”

“Look at you, being all gallant.” She gave a mean giggle. “I’d heard you’d gotten tossed out on your ass years back and was forced to slum it with the rest of us humans. Never thought I’d experience seeing your ugly fucking face again. Honestly, what’s the universe coming to?”

Kirk, ready to jump in and say something to this Laura for her unwarranted abuse of his first officer was waved off by Spock.

“So, tell me this, Spock.” She pointed a long metallic blue-painted fingernail at him. “If you’re here, where’s that other _odious creature_? Where’s Mollie?”

“Her location is irrelevant to your leaving this system immediately.” Spock retorted.

“ _She’s not with you_.” The words came out as a teasing sing-song. “How can you stand being away from her? Separated from the reason you exist? Cut off from your shadow? Maybe she finally came to her senses and had you excised from her brain. . . How has something as pathetic as you lived for as long as you have?”

“Merchant Captain, that’s enough.” Kirk refused to let his friend continue to take her abuse.

“Just so you know, I’m not going anywhere for now.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shouted at someone called Silvio to break the connection.

  
  
  
Tralnor occupied a computer station used for scanning quality control samples. He’d gotten into a good rhythm and made the most of the repetitive work. He was glad he’d been amongst the media lab staff long enough that the constant stream of questions about why he was wasting time as a dish bitch dropped off and he could focus on his assigned tasks.

Lt. Chavez came over to hover, mostly in a misguided attempt to annoy Tralnor. He’d spent the whole shift cooking up something obnoxious to say and was so proud of his antics that he got out about two words before he started to stutter. As the media lab people laughed at him, Tralnor ignored Chavez.

“ _Lt. Commander Tralnor report to the bridge_.” The comm system paged ship-wide. “ _Lt. Commander Tralnor to the bridge_.”

“ _Whoa_.” Someone whispered.

“Excuse me, Lt. Chavez. It looks like I need to go.” Tralnor handed off his work to the crewman one station over.

“I’ve been on this ship for nearly two years, and I’ve never even seen the bridge.” Chavez sighed. “I’m tired of looking at you, Dr. Tralnor.”

Tralnor disliked like the idea that he was being summoned to the adults’ table. He preferred to keep to the so-called lower decks and stay out of everyone’s way. This did not bode well.

He didn’t expect the lift to open directly onto the bridge. When the doors drew back, he cautiously poked his head out and nearly didn’t leave the car until the captain told him it was okay. At least he knew all of the faces staring back at him. “Lt. Commander Tralnor, reporting.”

“There is a ship that has just entered this system.” Spock was mentally clammed up. Something had just handed him a drastic shock.

“I’m not sure how I can be of help.” Tralnor repeated one of his favorite sayings since arriving on the Enterprise.

“The person in command of this vessel is one Laura Hillyard.”

Someone swinging a concrete block into the side of his head would stun Tralnor less than this revelation. He didn’t try to stifle his facial expression. “ _Fuck me_. Laura Hillyard? As in _The Laura Hillyard_?”

“Would either of you care to let me in on the secret?” Kirk looked up to the science station where Tralnor congregated with Spock. “This must be something because you look like you just got run down by a train.”

“I’d rather fall on the third rail, then get plowed by a train, than deal with this woman.” Tralnor bunched his thoughts together. “Laura Hillyard is one of the most ruthless people I’ve had the displeasure of knowing. She’s a radical human isolationist whose racist writings have become the underpinnings of the extremist earth supremacists’ cause. She’s here because those diamonds down on Melbek III can fund the movement in perpetuity.”

“Is she truly dangerous? A lot of these guys are nothing but a bunch of hot air.” Kirk hoped for an out that wasn’t coming.

“She stabbed her husband seventy-three times while he was sleeping.” Tralnor said. “Never think she won’t try the same tactic on the Enterprise.”

“Captain. They’re hailing us.” Lt. Uhura turned to face Kirk.

“Put her through.” Kirk addressed the screen. “Captain Hillyard, if you don’t—”

She pretended like the captain wasn’t even on the bridge. Tralnor’s stomach turned in on itself at the very sight of her.

“ _Bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble_!” She swatted at one of her crew for encroaching on her personal space. “What is this, Spock? Mollie’s not around, so you’re reduced to having to call in the B-team? Hello, Tralnor.”

“Laura.” He responded.

“Wow, you guys. This is like old home week, don’t you think?” She leaned back in her seat, snapped her fingers, and sat up straight. “If you’re here, and Spock’s here, I’m missing out on a juicy piece of gossip from that molten fucking cinder you call home. Just because I despise Vulcan and its people doesn’t mean I don’t keep my ear to the ground.”

“Murder anyone lately, Laura?” Tralnor didn’t know if he could tell Lt. Uhura to shut Laura off, so he decided to force her to cut the line from her side.

“Are you volunteering, Tralnor? I’d love nothing more than to rid the world of you and your inferior genetics.”

“I was thinking of any new husbands or boyfriends unfortunate enough to have gotten stuck in your web.” Tralnor said.

“You think you’re being so damned clever. Never forget boys, I have your number.” She pointed to someone off-screen and gave a simple hand signal. “Spock won’t tell me, so I’ll try you, Tralnor. I’m just burning to know, where’s Mollie?”

“How should I know? I’m not her keeper.” Tralnor’s answer caught Laura off guard. She blinked heavily and recovered her bearings.

“Looks like Captain Sunshine is getting flustered. I’d better go so you can tell Comrade Hero all the nasty things about me.” She blew them a kiss, and the screen went black.

  
  
  


“Due to a situation we don’t have the time to discuss right now, my siblings and I completed most of our secondary education on Vulcan. We lived with my grandmother, T’Lessa, in ShiKhar and attended various schools there. In order to receive a high school diploma from the State of California, we all had to take four semesters of Terran History. One day a week, we’d spend the afternoon at the Consolidated Terran School, where all the children of human staff and faculty from the entire city attended. That’s where the MacCormacks initially encountered Laura.” Tralnor’s shock was finally letting go. He could say her name without reactively swearing out loud or in his mind.

“Okay. That addresses your interactions with her.” The captain herded the two Vulcans into his office to answer for this insanity. “You never went to school with her, Spock.”

“I did not.” Spock said. “I encountered her through my association with Tralnor’s family.”

“Did you do something to her to,” Kirk struggled for the right words to define her odious behavior, “elicit this level of venom? She’s more or less stated she wants you both dead.”

“We’re aliens with one human parent. To her, we’re the epitome of what’s wrong with the universe, just your boilerplate human supremacist sentiment.” Tralnor said. “The one of us she’s really got it in for is my sister.”

“Mollie?” Kirk said her name, barely spitting it out. His immediate concern to the safety of the ship flickered out replaced by smoldering contempt.

Tralnor didn’t acknowledge the captain’s emotional swing and went on to describe Laura’s background. “Her mother is a renowned geneticist who took a prestigious post at the VSA. Laura’s parents divorced around that time, and she hated that she wasn’t allowed to stay on earth with her father. She despised every second of every day she spent on Vulcan and never failed to let anyone know it. The second she turned eighteen, she fled straight into the arms of Earth First. She didn’t last long with them. They were too soft for her tastes.

“Laura didn’t become violent until she fell in with the AnthroVision Defense League. She’s been linked to bombings, been arrested for attacking people and using hate speech, and was even named a suspect in an assassination attempt on the Andorian ambassador to earth. Threats, posturing, it’s not bluster. She may look like a pretty little girl, but she’s rotten to the core.”

 _I want to know where Mollie is too_ , Kirk thought. _Maybe if I fed her to this Laura person, I could get two threats to me and mine out of the way_. “What’s your advice on dealing with this woman?”

“Blow her out of the sky, right now, while you’ve still got the chance.” Tralnor said. “She’s aggressive and sneaky, her every move dictated by her racist philosophy. The longer you sit here and play by the rules, the more time she’s got to slip a stiletto between your ribs.”

“That has got to be the most un-Vulcan response I’ve ever heard.” Kirk was finding it hard to comprehend what had Spock and Tralnor so rattled. Yes, this was a pain in the ass situation that had potential for danger, but it wasn’t like he and the Enterprise hadn’t faced tyrants, pirates, or criminals before. They’d just have to be careful about how they handled Hillyard. He wanted to keep her cool, and turn her over to the purview of Dragon and Seren when they arrived. “What is your opinion, Mr. Spock?”

“I concur with Dr. Tralnor.”

  
  
  
The merchant ship Laura Hillyard helmed was, after hours of careful mining through false transponder data for the answer, ironically called Sweetness. Registered out of Trego Delta, a hotbed of human supremacist activity, Sweetness was supposedly just a freighter that operated when and where extra haulage was needed. Flight plans and crew manifests never matched with where they were or who was on board.

Captain Kirk sat in the dark, scrolling through every bit of new information that came in. There were multiple bodies in Hillyard’s wake, though her husband was the only murder definitively linked to her. She’d walked away from her pre-trial accommodations and spent the next five years with a growing bounty on her head. Tough, vengeful, and willing shoot first without thinking, he started to understand the Vulcans’ sentiment.

Every picture of her, every AnthroVision campaign poster where she was put up as the perfect example of the human female, captured her breathtaking beauty. What disturbed Kirk the most was how each image exuded the evil contained within her.


	11. Chapter 11

Spock/Mollie’s memory started at the Consolidated Terran School, all seven of the MacCormack kids herded into the building and told they had to stay until the dismissal bell rang for the day. Mollie joined the sophomores of Section C for her weekly dose of hell.

She got out her assignments and waited with eleven other students for their perpetually late instructor to arrive. Spock found the details in this recollection startlingly clear, the creak of the furniture, idle conversation, Tommy Barrow’s overpowering cologne, wayward air currents from the heavy duty HVAC system. . .

“ _Ugh, it’s here again_.” Laura, not as late as the teacher, entered the room and instigated yet another confrontation with Mollie MacCormack. “Just like ringworm or jock itch, you think you’ve been mean enough to it to make it go away and poof! It's back.”

“You don’t genuinely believe I want to be here, do you, Laura? If the State of California didn’t say my ass had to be in this chair right now, isn’t it obvious I’ve got better things to be doing with people a hell of a lot smarter than you?” Mollie hunkered down to read further into next week’s lesson.

A couple of Laura’s friends laughed in Mollie’s general direction. This castigating talk was old hat between the girls.

“You can be pretty funny sometimes,” Laura pulled no punches today and went straight for what she thought was Mollie’s weakest point. “That is, for someone without a father.”

“Really, Laura? Is that the best you’ve got? Because if it is, I’m going to step outside and laugh until I cry.” It was moments like this where Mollie felt sorry for this looney girl, and Spock didn’t understand how people like Laura became what they were.

“My mom told me all about you, Mollie. All about you and your freaky side-show family and the unethical science that you specifically are involved in.” Laura leaned in. “When my mom said you didn’t have a father, I didn’t get it at first that you _really don’t have a father_.”

“And your point is? A lot of kids don’t have dads. Look at you. You don’t have one anymore.” Mollie refused to roll over and take yet another round of insults and wasn’t going to answer to any of the accusations Laura insinuated. “At least I was wanted by my mother and not the result of a broken condom.”

Students just following along with the argument broke into laughter.

“Stop it, you donkeys.” Laura sneered. “It’s because of Mollie that one of the greatest insults to the human race was created. Laugh all you want right now, morons. In the coming years, you’re not going to think its funny when we’re chattel, and our green-blooded overlords are giving all the orders.”

“Jesus Christ, Laura. Get off it.” A male classmate said. “If you thought about your homework half as hard as you did about all of this racist shit, you’d be on the honor roll.”

“Good afternoon, class.” Mrs. Robinson arrived on the scene not knowing the situation she’d defused.The rest of the lesson dragged along, Spock experiencing every bolt of boredom coursing through Mollie’s brain. It was about this time when his memories started merging into this collective knot of retrospection. When she made her escape from the Consolidated School, she met up with Spock at the VSA’s neuroscience library, where they spent some time gathering citations for a study they’d started over the summer.

That evening, they’d decided to continue their work at his home. An automated aircab set them down within a block of the house. They talked about the alluring smell of Amanda’s roses mixed with the native flora that gave the immediate area the scent of spicy potpourri.

Behind closed doors, away from the prying eyes of the public, fingers entwined, foreheads touched, and the ugliness of their days amongst their student-peers ebbed out of their minds. They filed down one another’s rough edges, no words exchanged, until they knew they could open their eyes and emerge re-centered.

Moving from the window seat to the bed, they leaned into one another and picked up their earlier line of inquiry regarding the routing and rerouting of the psionic pathways responsible for making the jump from touch telepathy to mid-spectrum telepathic abilities. Red hues from another wicked Vulcan sunset cast the room in an ethereal light. Lost in conversation, minds interwoven, they thought they had at least an hour of intensive thought when they were cut short.

Lady Amanda knocked on the door. Eyes opened, minds separated, Spock got up to answer his mother’s summons where an average human teen would shout and hope they were heard.

“A friend of yours is here.” Amanda seemed pleased to simply say those words. “I put her in the drawing room so you kids can have some privacy.”

Spock and Mollie looked to one another, questioning who would show up on the doorstep that wasn’t one of the co-mingling of Ad’ehlevnas and MacCormacks. _We’re not exactly popular people_ , one or both of them thought.

Downstairs, Amanda escorted them to the seldom-used space, and like a rattlesnake coiled in the cool shade of a low escarpment, Laura Hillyard was inside, ready to strike.

“Have a good time.” Spock’s grateful mother retreated to parts unknown.

“Laura, what are you doing here?” Mollie was the first to speak.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to see this part of the city, where the movers and shakers of the ShiKahr elite live.” She wasn’t immediately hostile, which was worrying.

“I think it for the best that you leave.” Spock visually scrutinized the human girl who looked so natural sat in one of the chairs his mother had brought to Vulcan from her grandparents’ home in Colorado.

“Nope, you’re not getting rid of me that easy. You two have invented ingenious ways of shaking me downtown, at the VSA, and over at T’Sira Municipal Gardens. I’ve got you on your own territory right now.” She let slide one of her predatory, spine-tingling smiles. “None of us is going anywhere, not until we have a good old-fashioned talk about compromised ethics in biomedical research.”

“Go home, Laura.” Mollie kept her fervor reeled in, not wanting to cause a scene in Sarek and Amanda’s house. “We can be right back at one another’s throats next week at Consolidated.”

“I’m going start,” Laura began an eeny-meanie-miney-mo pendulation of her hand. “Oh, screw it. You’re too interconnected to divide into neat categories of _his_ and _hers_.”

Since it looked like Laura wasn’t leaving until she exhausted herself, Mollie sat on the royal blue velour sofa Amanda inherited from an aunt. Spock took the next cushion over.

“You wouldn’t even exist without you.” Laura pointed from Spock to Mollie, before making the reverse gesture. “And you wouldn’t exist without you.”

She wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. They were fully aware of the intricate legacy to which they were born.

“I can almost get my head around the deliberate creation of a total aberration in your case, Spock. But you, Mollie? There is no excuse worthy of you breathing my oxygen.” Her contempt kept on. “On earth, your loathsome conceptions, from notes in margins of genetics journals to mitosis in your petri dishes, is illegal. Your mothers and their medical teams should be in prison for their blatant breaking of the Post-Eugenics Wars Laws. Both of you should have been terminated.”

“Are you about done, Laura? You’re keeping us from our research.” Mollie did a good job of keeping any contempt out of her voice.

“Your only saving grace is that you were both conceived, gestated, and birthed here. Spock should have dual citizenship and doesn’t. Mollie has a Vulcan passport.”

“Because she is a Vulcan citizen.” Spock confirmed.

“And that’s my point. You’re not eligible for the honor of holding an earth passport. Our laws don’t acknowledge that you’re even people. Do you understand what that means?”

“I’m sure you’ve got some tiring explanation.” Mollie lolled her head to the side and stared at her offensive classmate. “Just hurry up and leave us alone.”

“Nature says you shouldn’t be here, Spock. The blatant manipulation that created your DNA. . . The only things that made you viable came from Livia MacCormack’s ‘donation,’ and Mollie here was created from the leftovers. That should bother you just as much as it disturbs me.” Laura giggled and cleared her throat.

“Hemoglobin switch, bone marrow propagation control, and an autoimmune reroute, those three genes were patched into my DNA from Livia MacCormack’s eggs.” Spock was not bothered by the particulars of what was done to strengthen the human side of his genome. On earth, such replacements were commonly made postnatally under the guise of gene therapy for pre-existing conditions. It wasn’t that Amanda’s DNA was faulty in any way, there were certain tiny details that needed augmenting when combined with Sarek’s genes. Due to the structural friability of Amanda’s eggs, which again was normal for a human, Livia’s hollowed ova were injected with the primordial cocktail of life and implanted into Amanda’s womb.

On the flip side, scientists working on Sarek and Amanda’s case didn’t want to see the healthy nuclei of Livia’s gametes, sans the single needed gene removed from each one, flushed away or incinerated. Livia thought about donating them for research purposes but decided she wanted a daughter instead. That daughter was a painstaking recombination of the material from those eggs, parthenogenesis performed at a lab bench. Where Amanda’s ova could not take the stress the initial hybrid cell division, refilled with a diploid amalgamation of Livia’s DNA, Mollie was born.

“Assisted reproduction is what it’s called, Laura.” Mollie said. “Humans have been in on that since the twentieth century.”

“Call it what you want. Make it sound clean and clinical. That doesn’t hide the fact that both of your repulsive lives shouldn’t be possible.” Back to the gesturing, Laura compulsively talked with her hands. Again, she pointed to Spock. “You should have died _in utero_ , incompatible with life, or whatever they call unviable pregnancies.” Then to Mollie, she hissed, “ _And you should have been medical waste_!”

From the hallway, Amanda’s favorite tea tray, ladened with refreshments, crashed to the floor. Before the sounds of breaking dishes and clattering flatware cleared the air, Spock’s mother roared into the drawing room and growled at Laura.

“ _Get. Out. Of. My. House_.” With the fury of a grizzly sow, Amanda snatched Laura by the hair and physically dragged the repugnant human girl out of the room.

Laura, in probably the first time in her life, was stunned into silence.

“— _and if I ever see you here or anywhere near my son again_ —” Shouting echoed back into the house where Amanda didn’t close the front door. Spock and Mollie stood together in the main sitting room, listening to the angry mother roar. “— _find out how you broke into confidential medical records, you’ll wish_ —”

Time lost some of its reference in this combined memory, but there came a point where Amanda had come back inside and hugged them close. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with people like that. Never forget that your parents love you. We loved the idea of you before you came into being and we wanted you more than we’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Mother, how much—”

“Nearly every vile word.” Amanda let them go to arm’s length and regarded their faces, tears stung her eyes. . .

Spock merged back into the present. He’d not thought of that day in years, not examined his own creation or non-social connection to Mollie in just as long.

Laura may have shown up in the Melbek system for the diamonds, but she’d get a lot more out of verbally torturing people she found inferior before going off on a great guns attempt at taking the Enterprise down. Adding a Federation starship to the notches on her belt would cement her status as a living legend amongst the ingrates and apartheid-fiends she surrounded herself with.

Beneath the drama of MV Sweetness and her vociferous captain, Spock had something else to dissect from earlier. Tralnor’s talk the night before about touching Vulcans and thoughts/emotions abruptly incising into the mind of the person being touched left Spock with the hypothesis that forcing Jim to touch him might offer some insight into the captain’s regard of his first officer.

While that brief exposure to Jim’s mental state wasn’t enough to answer any real questions, Spock could say the captain genuinely cared about him in some capacity. For the immediate moment, that was enough.

  
  
  
Someone who thought they were smarter than they actually were pushed a Send Message button from a well-hidden communications panel situated at an engineering junction where Jeffries Tubes intersected between decks four and five. This person hand-built the diminutive station to look like the normal guts of a starship. Some of these most accomplished engineers and mechanics in the entire ‘fleet were on the Enterprise, and no one had found it yet.

The comm went out in text form, as did most of the messages lobbed into space from this panel. Hidden amongst junk data and extended file name attachments, the letter would wind its way to the intended recipient. This person didn’t have time or patience to operate through official channels, not when isolation or alerts shut down recreational calls home. This camouflaged little gem hadn’t failed them yet.

What this person didn’t do in their satisfaction at pulling one over on those in command was take into consideration just who or what out there might be listening in.


	12. Chapter 12

Sha’leyen’s Belonite accent reminded Tralnor of how some of his Lyr Saan relatives spoke with that same pre-Reform lilt. He’d forgotten how she sounded. The trauma of having her torn from his brain robbed him of endearing details like that. She talked about bioarch getting ready to run their grand inventory scheme to tally every single item within the walls of her kingdom. He described his latest run-in with Chavez and his unexpected call to the bridge.

“Have you been to the bridge?” He understood just how rare it was for a random member of the crew to receive an order like that.

“I take at least one extra shift a week on the Science station so I can keep my BOC current. San Francisco keeps telling me that they want me on the bridge of a research vessel within days of Enterprise going in for her refit. I get the feeling they want me to take over that station on our next five-year run. I like to dabble, and I enjoy the change of pace sometimes, but they can never keep me up there.” She had a warm laugh too. “Bioarch is my home.”

“ _Lifer_.” He said, sopping up her bright disposition and contentment at a career well done.

“What about you? After this is up, where do I see you? You are not a starship man. Wanderlust does not fire your soul.” She closed her eyes and smelled the air around him, rebuilding a memory.

“I’m usually in California or on Vulcan.”

She was close to him and her body heat registered on his skin. “So you are easy to find? That is my hope.”

“Mine too.”

They touched for the first time since they reunited and were carried along on a current of acceptation, knowing in the fibers of their spirits that even though their parents arranged the long-dead bond that first united them, a nameless little ember still glowed.

Together, their minds traced the scar tissue where their bond once lived. Confronting those gnarled remainders, tucked into one another’s thoughts, the pain associated with those places was not so bad. Now they could luxuriate in the fact they were no longer alone.

Coming up for breath, Tralnor opened his mouth to speak, and the air above their heads quaked with the Red Alert klaxon.

  
  
  
_Shit, shit, shit_! Kirk ran toward the bridge, dragging a gold tunic over his head, not caring if water from his hair left mottled damp spots behind. The lift expelled him into his destination. “Mr. Frost, report.”

Beta shift’s security whiz kid swiveled to face the captain. “MV Sweetness has launched a trojan horse attack on our engineering and security computer systems, Sir. We’ve lost direct access to auxiliary life support, half of our external cameras are offline, and the phase generators for the aft shields are unresponsive.”

“Bridge to engineering.” Kirk always went to the big man when he could. “Mr. Scott, how badly are we compromised and how did Hillyard do it?”

“I’ve not got all the particulars of which of my pies she’s got her fingers in, Sir. But we do know how she got in.”

“Go ahead, Scotty.”

“She back-tracked a private letter that was sent out this afternoon. Not on official channels, of course, and the way it was routed off the ship was just enough of a gap that she slipped right through.” The chief engineer, both frustrated and disgusted at the situation, kept his usual charm. “Sir, keep a close eye on this spider, and we’ll cut down her web.”

Spock and Uhura arrived on the next lift and immediately took over their respective stations.

“Uhura, get everything you can from Scotty and figure out who, how, and where someone on this ship sent off a clandestine comm home during a Yellow Alert.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Spock, do whatever it is you need to do to get into our systems and get this bitch out. Work with engineering or on your own. I don’t care how you do it.” Kirk brought MV Sweetness up on the viewing screen.

“Sir, she’s moved into _medical records_.” Frost’s confusion as to why that was important played through his voice and across his face.

“She’s adding the crew’s private information into her organization’s harassment and hit lists.” Spock said. “Starfleet and the Federation promote mutual cooperation across worlds and species. Any of us with non-human DNA, psionic abilities, or histories of gene therapy treatments are going into a database shared amongst her members, leaving us with targets on our heads.”

Kirk swallowed that latest kick to the gut. “Hurry, Spock.”

_I won’t see you hurt, Spock. I refuse to see you killed in the name of hate_!  
  
  
  
Blessedly, the doors closed on the lift as Jim’s singularly directed thought speared Spock’s brain, forcing a gasp from his throat and a caustic sting in his eyes. The car stopped before he could input a command override and he pulled himself together enough for a human to think he was operating at normal capacity.

(You called?) Tralnor stepped on, punched the close button, then deliberately stopped the car between decks.

(I can’t—) How was it possible for one thought to level him? What was it about Jim that left him tearing like tissue paper?

(Take a deep breath.) Tralnor said. When Spock complied, the mair-rigolauya employed a tactic he’d read of but never witnessed. Tralnor’s hand went down the back of Spock’s shirt, where he made a fist and placed it over the third thoracic vertebrae. This touch offered no slings or arrows, just the skin of another living being. (Breathe out.)

Tralnor removed his hand shook his fingers. (That was a microdistruption to the nerves and parts of your endocrine system responding to and refracting Jim’s declaration. Sometimes a physical intervention is faster than forcing thought patterning and emotional controls. I can teach you how to do it on yourself.)

(That was very effective.) Surely such a simple intercession merited some form of inclusion in the modern Vulcan’s arsenal of mental controls.

Lift restarted, Tralnor let off one of his slight shrugs. (You know how people get about the Lyr Saan and our ‘strange’ practices.)

They rode in silence until the car placed them near Spock’s lab. Tralnor followed. (What are we doing, Spock? I’m not a computer guy.)

  
  
  
“Why, Captain Sunshine, you’re looking grumpy this evening.” Hillyard sneered. “You should have listened to the Dysfunctional Duo and tried to kill me while you had the chance.”

Kirk didn’t reward her with a response. MV Sweetness had hailed Enterprise, and he was ready to hang up if all she wanted was to hurl insults.

“That’s right, I know that’s what they told you to do. Even Vulcans understand you have to cut the head off a viper. But you decided what? They were too rash? I didn’t seem like a real threat to a glorious Constitution-class ship?” She reached for a toggle on her console and threw the switch.

“Forward phasers offline, Sir.” Frost said. “We can still—”

“ _Un-uh_.” Hillyard shook her head. “Check again, little boy.”

Kirk glanced at his own console to see she’d locked him out of his own fucking torpedo bays. “Captain Hillyard, I take you and your capabilities very seriously.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Captain Sunshine. You can’t flirt your way out of this one. I’ve been reading up on you, Comrade Hero.” She flipped something else. “The kinds of people you consort with, fornicate with, I wouldn’t touch your pretty ass with a barge pole.”

She was right. He’d written her off as a kook with a bark worse than her bite, just another criminal scumbag to be tolerated until relief arrived. “Take the diamonds.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” She acted like she was placing careful thought into which of Enterprise’s systems she’d disable next. “When my little game here is through, and you’re completely neutralized, I’ll take what’s mine.”

  
  
  
(Tralnor, I need you to get me inside the computer.) Spock put a list of breaches and outages up on a display. (She’s locking us out of manual input methods.)

(And you want to bypass the consoles and enter into the network psionically?) This was not a safe idea.

(Your abilities are such that you can breach the system.)

Tralnor shook his head. (Yeah, as a party gimmick. I can do dumb little things like sidestep door locks and imprint my memories into hard drives, but what you’re asking is so far out of my realm of experience and talent that you’d better hope you’re faster with a keyboard than Laura is.)

(Your father taught you.)

(For what you’re proposing, my father is the only person who could help you.) Tralnor’s head tingled inside and out. (This is a meld with a machine you’re talking about. You’ve never done it, and I’m lousy at it. One false step and we fry our brains.)

(She’s sealed off the ceramics workshop and vented the atmosphere. Staff evacuated with minor casualties.) Overhead lights flickered and surged.

(We do this in sick bay.) Tralnor directed. (Someone has to keep an eye on us out in the real world.) 

(This facility offers the best hub of the ship’s interconnected systems.)

(Sick bay.) Tralnor held firm. (If you flatline while you’re in there, which is a distinct possibility, you need someone in the immediate vicinity who can restart your heart. Let’s go.)

  
  
  
Dr. McCoy called to the bridge, begging the captain to do something about the power fluctuations that kept throwing his diagnostic equipment offline. The reply? _Not right now, Bones_!

What the hell kind of good was that going to do him when the big cases started rolling in? Even though this wasn’t a torpedoes and bombs kind of fight, it was the right atmosphere for severe misadventure. He decided to implement Trauma Protocol B, one of the most stringent triage rubrics Starfleet used. _Better to be prepared to make the hard decisions_ , he said to himself.

“Dr. McCoy, Dr. Tralnor and I need to use an exam area that has its own computer terminal.” Spock and Tralnor barged in like they ran sick bay and made for the equipment they were after.

More concerned than incensed, McCoy followed after the Vulcans. When hand tools came out, and Spock started to pop an access panel off the wall where the terminal married into the rest of the ship, the physician spoke up. “ _Now, just a damn minute_. . .”

“Doctor, can you put an external heart monitor on Spock, preferably one with an independent power supply.” Tralnor began to run his palm along the wall like he was searching for something.

The deck plates rumbled beneath their feet followed by the sound of creaking, then crumpling metal. “What brand of insanity are you two following?”

“It’s a stupid human trick.” Tralnor’s voice had lost that ask me anything vibrancy, thus he sounded colder, more determined. “I’m taking Spock into the computer network, just a little something my dad showed me how to do.”

“When you say ‘into the network,’ what exactly does that mean?”

Tralnor tapped his right temple. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me. Keep a close watch on Spock, and for the love of all that is holy, don’t touch him unless you absolutely have to.”

McCoy started on a string of objections once he mostly figured out what the Vulcans were doing. Spock stuck the heart monitor to his skin and waited on Tralnor, who was up to his elbows in computer entrails.

(Found it.) Tralnor pulled bundle into the light. He stripped insulation and protective coverings away from the wires and fiber optic strands. “For anyone who is watching, _do not ever try to do this_.”

Spock wasn’t linked with Tralnor when he pushed his mind into that other realm. Tralnor’s back arched and all his muscles contracted like he was suffering high voltage electrocution. Involuntary, unsettling moans emanated from the younger Vulcan.

“Spock?” McCoy tried to take in the outrageous scene. “Spock, stop this, right now.”

Tralnor’s backward contortion lost its grip, and he flopped forward, face smacking onto the worktop. Twitches, spasms, nonsensical vocalization, none of these affectations was the sign Spock was looking for. It took nearly half a minute for Tralnor’s mind to tap back into his body. Unfocused eyes sharpened their gaze in an upward trajectory.

(I made it through.) Static and distortion made Tralnor hard to hear. (You’ll have to touch my face and initiate the meld. Whatever you do, don’t back off. Force yourself in if you have to.)

McCoy shouted in the background while Spock’s fingertips found their proper placement. He thought he heard himself screaming as his mind caught a flaming vortex of energy and information.


	13. Chapter 13

(Stop looking for a consciousness, Spock. It’s not here to contact. This place isn’t alive. It only does what we tell it to do and can’t actually respond the way you’re seeking.)

Tralnor’s words, like silvery leaves, swirled around and through Spock. The visual representation his brain compiled from the foreign stimuli consisted of colors, mostly purple and green, pulses of light, and wind forcing the packet flow of information, similar to the way blood cells traversed capillaries.

(Don’t touch anything unless I say so. Don’t deviate from the path I clear.)

(Understood.)

(The stress you’re under in here, you’ll become bone-crushingly tired, exhausted to the point of death. That’s when you’ll feel the siren’s call.) Tralnor made a movement, taking them about half a meter to the right. (You’ll experience a wracking compulsion to stop what you’re doing and lose yourself to the machine. Do not allow that to happen, it's suicide.)

Spock considered his brilliant idea to beat Laura and now completely realized Tralnor’s earlier apprehension. (Again, understood.)

(The Enterprise is a mostly closed system. The easiest way for me to take you where you need to go and the most efficient way to handle this problem are opposing approaches. I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go the long way.) Tralnor’s mind took a firmer hold of Spock, clearing some of the calamitous optic clutter from his occipital lobe. (We’re just outside of sick bay and need to get to your lab. I want you to give me the exact distances, to the millimeter, along the hard-wired system to get there from here. I’m not good enough at this to jump along the wireless routers, so avoid those because if you send us that way and we end up going through one, I can’t guarantee that I can get us out alive.)

Spock started listing off distances, and Tralnor plowed on like an ice-breaking ship through the Arctic. Off to their left, he guessed it was left, a brilliant ultramarine orb fluttered. It issued a familiar, the word wasn’t song, but—he wished to examine it.

(That’s the Command Module. It’s infected with Laura’s virus. If we step straight into that, we’d have better chances against a bear trap. Blinders on. What’s the next measurement?)

A gust of errant energy shoved against them, battering their mental collective, attempting to push them off course. The telepathic equivalent of crawling on their bellies to the next junction brought them to a sort of fork in the road. Spock rolled himself further into Tralnor’s mind. (Tralnor, do you want to approach from the main access point or the back door in my system that only I know about?)

(How fast can you relay the codes to get through the firewalls?)

Purple and green shadows lapped along the fringes of their minds, Spock starting to discern the significance of the colors themselves. Purple was the Enterprise and green was the virus. That brilliant blue as seen at the Command Module, that was what it looked like when Laura had complete control of a system.

(Fast.) Spock answered.

(Then we go through the back. She’ll have been at the front, battering away for some time now.)

(Six-point-two centimeters forward.)

The atmosphere sizzled with Laura’s aggression. (Next?)

(Nineteen millimeters left.)

(Next?)

(Vector two-hundred-forty-seven degrees, four-point-nine centimeters.) This move took them to an incandescent ribbon of undulating filaments tightly woven into a barrier.

(Firewall.) Tralnor said. (Before we take this next step, we need to do something you’re probably not going to like. I’m taking over your visual cortex so you can see what I see while we’re in here. You will take control of my telekinetic abilities the second I get us through your security measures.)

(I am not a Teek, Tralnor.) Spock was weary, having mostly gone along for the ride at this point.

(You’re in luck because I’m not a strong one. I’m not asking you to blow doors off hinges or stop buildings from toppling. My firepower is limited to what it takes to levitate a soup spoon across a room.)

The roots of Tralnor’s mind penetrated into geography in Spock’s brain no other person had touched before. (I know it’s instinctual, but try not to fight me.)

Spock’s vision went back before a new landscape developed in his mind’s eye to find he and Tralnor standing in a downpour on the pavement in front of the Turlock, California, public library. Lightning cleaved a nearby tree in two.

(She’s coming.) Tralnor moved them off the pedestrian walk and to the doors, where a 0-9 numbered security keypad kept them out.

(It’s missing letters and symbols.) Spock said and watched as keypad evolved to fit the need. Tralnor held a hand above the keys, ready to input the relevant information.

(Go.)

(774gtL-uRk9fb-213y8z-Q4a4xp)

(Layer one, down. Next?)

(090*442/236:872#339)

Abruptly aware of the cold and being soaked to the bone in this bizarre environment, Spock didn’t hear when Tralnor called for the next access code.

(Spock, you go on walkabout in here, I can’t save you. Next code.)

(100 1100-100 0011-100 0011-1-111-0-1: 101 0101-101 0011-101 0011-100 0101-100 1110-101 0100-100 0101-101 1010-101 000-101 1010-100 1001-101-1010-100 0101)

(Now it wants a simple password.)

(PaintedMoon2230) The year he was born and one of his mother’s favorite hybrid roses.

The lock released.

  
  
  
“Two fatalities in Environmental Engineering.” Frost made the grim announcement. “Blast doors—”

“Now is not the time for gory details, Mr. Frost.” Kirk said. “Uhura?”

“Distress comm sent, beacon activated and ready, if we can launch it.” She said.

“Get that thing out and squawking.” Kirk called engineering. “Sitrep, Mr. Scott.”

“She’s got us chasing our tails, Sir.”

“Is Spock down there with you?” He hadn’t heard from his first officer in a disconcerting period of time for a crisis situation.

“No, Sir. We’ve not seen him.”

Kirk took the rest of the update from engineering and paged Spock. The lack of response shot daggers of worry down his spine. He tried again.

“I’ve got him here with me, Jim.” Bones’ voice conveyed gravity. “It’s—It’s a _situation_ , and that’s all I’ve got to say.”

“Bones?” Kirk did not like what he heard. _What the fuck was a situation _? He started to shout at the doctor and found nothing but the dead connection to sick bay.__

Frost declared, “Captain, we have ten minutes before she powers down life-support.”

“MV Sweetness, hailing.”

Kirk reluctantly told Uhura to put Hillyard through.

Mock concern played on her face. “ _An absurd little bird is popping out to say coo-coo. Regretfully they tell us, but firmly they compel us, to say goodbye to you_.”

“Put an end to the nonsense, Captain Hillyard.” Kirk crossed his arms over his chest.

She blinked, reset her face with a cold, predatory grin, and said, “I think I know how we can make a deal to spare your ship and your crew.”

 _I’m not going to like this_ , Kirk thought.

“Along with the diamonds, I want the following from the Enterprise: Three Vulcans, One Belonite, Four Human Deviants, Two Human Psions, One Andorian, and One Hoblian.” She sent the list of officers and crew. “I think it’s a mathematically significant exchange, twelve preternatural creatures for the lives of four-hundred-and-eleven humans.”

“ _Absolutely not_.” Kirk refused to entertain Hillyard’s offer.

“Don’t say I never gave you an out, Comrade Hero.”

  
  
  
In this land of oddity, the vast sprawl of the library proper did not match up with the outside structure.

(Each room is a Directory. Each shelving unit is a Subdirectory. Each book is a File Folder. Individual chapters are your Files.) Tralnor’s voice was there, but the man was not. (Look in the glass panel covering the fire alarm.)

Spock complied and caught a warped reflection. He did not see his own face. (You’re more or less wearing me like a glove.)

Spock looked at the hands he controlled and felt the callouses on the left fingers, trophies from decades of playing violin.

(Pull a book off the closest shelf, Spock.)

Fingers curled over a spine. He looked at the titles of the surrounding volumes. He was in a collection of paperwork related to his position as division head. When he removed the book and opened the cover, he was greeted with last quarter’s performance reviews.

(You’re the one in charge now.) Tralnor said. (Anything you need to alter, touch the page, think the changes, and move on as quickly as you can.)

  
  
  
Clad in the vestments of a T’Kehr Temple Ko-tek’ru Kaylara t’Lyr Saan, Sha’leyen stepped into the deliberately organized chaos of sick bay in full-swing. She moved along the edges of the action, eventually arriving at the area where Spock and Tralnor were segregated behind movable a screen.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Sha’leyen.” Dr. McCoy popped in behind her. “I’m out of my depth with whatever dangerous stunt these two are pulling.”

“You were right to call me.” She opened her soft-sided implement bag and set out what she believed were the most useful tools. “I’m not a Healer, but I have the experience and knowledge to help them through this situation."

“My staff have things pretty much under control for right now. You need any help with. . .” He pointed at stuff he probably considered witchcraft instead of medicine.

“Your assistance is appreciated, but not necessary.” She took a strip of cloth and tied Spock and Tralnor’s free hands together. Next, she carefully removed Spock’s other hand from Tralnor’s face. Now she could put the first officer in a chair rather than leaving him slumped on the worktop.

With both men seated, she unrolled the ancient leather apron that protected the hand-carved crystal vials, bottles, and jars containing the ingredients for potent elixirs and curative brews. Mortar and pestle situated, she opened trinket box she’d picked up on one of Enterprise’s many stops and removed a fat, stubby, red candle.

Set on a flat surface, she held her thumb and middle finger pinched on the wick. Her hand moved, revealing a flame that left McCoy fumbling for words. Long braid pulled over her shoulder, she snipped a tiny bundle of hairs from the very bottom and dropped her offering into the candle.

“Get a crash cart in here on stand-by for Spock.” Sha’leyen advised. “It’s not showing up on the monitor right now, but the likelihood of him coming out in full cardiac arrest is high.”

McCoy shouted her request around the screen then said to her, “They’re actually inside the ship’s computer? That’s really possible?”

“Tralnor’s father makes a living of psionically investigating AIs and spends about one hundred hours a month melded into networks and mainframes. He explained to me once that leaving your body is the easy part, moving through the computer, once you know what you are doing, becomes second nature because you and the machine are using an energy interface. It’s coming back, that’s hard. Your mind doesn’t want to be constrained by its physical home and acts out, sending jags of errant electricity that can cause seizures and stop your heart.”

“If it weren’t happening in front of my face, I’d say it was impossible.” The doctor hollered again for the crash cart.

Sha’leyen dug back into her bag for a self-contained audio player. “They went in without a tether.”

“What’s that?”

“His father likes to use a piece of music that he plays on repeat in the room where his physical self is.” She found a song that she’d downloaded years ago and never been able to listen to until now. “It keeps a part of your brain anchored in reality, as a reminder that you actually exist out here and what you are in there isn’t the real you.”

Nurse Chapel’s eyes bulged at what she pushed the crash cart into. _My god, all that’s missing is a headless chicken_!

Sha’leyen intercepted and walled off the nurse’s panic and concern at the sight of Spock. Chapel, on the verge of grabbing hold of the man, lurched a step closer. There was no place for outbursts of idiocy in a setting like this. “Doctor, get her out of here.”

The entire ship knew about the nurse’s infatuation with the first officer. She objected, but McCoy escorted her back into the main part of sick bay. “You know how Chris gets about Spock.”

Music played, and Sha’leyen compounded a psychoactive substance designed to make coming back into oneself less arduous. Mostly used when working with students on isolating the katra or those who were learning to read psychic imprints on places and things, this drug was a good choice for a couple of minds returning from a meld with a machine. When she developed a paste that released a robust, earthy scent into the air, she spread the concoction on their upper lips where the active molecules would enter the bloodstream via the mucous membranes of their eyes and noses.

No warning given, the overhead lights flicked out, leaving her to work by the dull yellow put out by the candle.

  
  
  
Fatigued, vision blurring, Spock tried to stop what he was doing and regain his focus. Tralnor urged him ahead, but they stumbled and fell, dropping an armload of edited books that were being moved from the stacks to an empty display shelf next to the circulation desk.

Back on his feet, they gathered the scattered items and trudged forward. Reordered, the books went onto the shelf, building up a protocol of defenses against Laura that when initialized would vomit her nefarious virus out of the Enterprise.

(What is that?) Tinny strains of music charged the air around them.

_I will try not to worry you./I have seen things that you will never see./Leave it to memory me./I shudder to breathe./I want you to remember./Oh, you will never see/I need something to fly, something to fly/Over my grave again, you will never see _. . .__

(I used to sing this to Sha’leyen. For her, it was a representation of what it was like to grow up in a time of war.) Tralnor sent them back into the stacks, stressing for Spock to focus on the books while he threaded their collective minds into the music, wrapping them into the tune the way a rope ties to a belaying pin.

Moving to freestanding bookcase he’d not yet visited, Spock dug into his reserves and compelled forward progress. The books, once nearly weightless, came off the shelves feeling like granite slabs. Cover opened, chapter and verse sought, their fingers against the page, change made. Lethargy.

Brain fog on level with the enervation he felt, they had a hard time moving quickly. Each book took more careful consideration, more circuitous thought, arms and hands seizing up, the sudden appeal of flying along on a current of pure information. . .

(Spock!) Tralnor didn’t yell, he screamed, (Feet on the ground! Eyes forward! Next book!) 

Next book. . .

  
  
  
“Emergency generators not responding!” Someone on the medical staff called out.

The guts of the ship groused and grumbled as the bulkheads shuddered. Enterprise was in her death throes. “Starting chest compressions!”

A different voice came through the dark. “Be ready with atropine.”

Handheld torches cast awkward streams of light throughout sick bay.

Sha’leyen poured boiling water over her next formulation, moving through her ministrations like there was all the time in the universe. “May the living soul of Ko-tek’ru Kaylara bless us all.”

  
  
  
End Notes:

*Songs: "So Long, Farewell" from The Sound of Music and "Try Not to Breathe" R.E.M. from the album Automatic for the People. (Obligatory Disclaimer: These songs are not mine and are being used for non-commercial purposes.)


	14. Chapter 14

_So this is what it feels like to get kicked out of heaven_ , Kirk said to himself as he beat against his dead console, trying to smack one last favor out of the beautiful ship he’d made his life. Something exploded in the decks below, shockwaves vibrated through the soles of his boots. He was one breath away from telling the people on the bridge to say a prayer to the who or whatever of their choice and say goodbye.

“Sir, I’m getting a message.” Uhura, who’d been locked out of her station for nearly twenty minutes, perked up. “It’s from Mr. Spock!”

One final ray of light coursed through his heart. Spock. “Put it him on. . . Spock, where are you?”

His ears picked up an extraordinary combination of echoing music, eerie moaning static, pops, crackles, and the precisely overlapped voices of Spock and Dr. Tralnor.

“Tralnor and I are—I’m not doing anything, it’s all you, Spock—ready to initiate Laura’s expulsion.” The sound of thousands of birds flapping their wings batted away some of what he/they said. “—should come online immediately, ready to fire. Do not try to—”

“Repeat that Spock, it didn’t come through clearly.” Kirk felt the familiar twinge of anticipation that came with knowing he’d survive another close scrape with death. Spock/Tralnor gave their information again and signed off, leaving the bridge in the quiet eye of the storm. “You heard them. Be ready to act the second they shunt Hillyard, and we’ll hand her ass to her.”

  
  
  
Disasters averted in sick bay proper, McCoy ran toward the sound of Spock’s cardiac monitor. This erratic beat was already starting to decay. “Does this mean they’re coming out?”

“Not quite.” Sha’leyen removed a swab tipped with a wad of gauze from Spock’s mouth. “Some of what you do in there will always feedback to your body. He’s in distress in both places.”

McCoy acted by dialing up a dose of adrenaline and handed the hypospray off to Sha’leyen. She pressed it to the first officer’s neck. “Get his upper body stripped.”

The bioarchaeologist opted against the bandage scissors and pulled a camouflaged dagger from up her left sleeve. She knew the Vulcans' meld was strongly established enough that she cut their hands apart then flayed Spock’s uniform, exposing the skin. McCoy didn’t have to tell her how to place the electrode pads. 

“Stand clear.”

She stepped back, hands up, and the doctor administered the first shock.

  
  
  
Laura Hillyard had, over the last few years, grown to love her mobile mayhem palace. The Sweetness made spreading her message and keeping a leg up on the authorities a delightful mix of business and pleasure. She snuggled back into her throne and though she might like a snack to go with the finale of the Federation’s prized flagship.

She opened one of the drawers built into the bulky captain’s chair and mulled her choices: black licorice whips, candied orange slices, coconut haystacks. . . Her attention shifted when a message marked URGENT catapulted to the head of the queue displayed on her private screen. She hit the read message button, mind more focused on food than what some moron below decks had probably sent under the guise of a crisis of dumbfuckery.

“Silvio, shields to maximum!” Laura ordered. “Morgana, get us the fuck out of here, now!”

 _Those rat bastards_! _Those skank-choked fucking Vulcans_! How in the great gaping maw of hell had they done it?

“Captain, I thought—” Silvio objected.

“Now, Morgana! Now!” She threw the closest thing at hand, barely missing his head. “We’ll come back later for what’s ours.”

As Sweetness roared, the message, something only that asshole Tralnor would throw in her face, was still up on her screen: _No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition_!

  
  
  
_Oh, Spock, you could have died in there. When I said do whatever it is you need to do, I never imagined_. . . Kirk stood at the foot of Spock’s bed over on the in-patient ward. It looked like he was sleeping, but Bones said Sha’leyen had placed him into a sort of medically induced coma cum healing trance. _Look at you_. . .

“He’s gonna be okay, Jim.” Bones joined the vigil. “It took four shocks all together, but we got him out of that damned machine, and he’s never stopped breathing on his own. The readings are good. I might have him back to you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“What about his partner in crime?” Kirk was torn, did he want to hug or sucker punch Dr. Tralnor for taking Spock into the computer? _You could have died, Spock_! But, the alternative was grimmer.

“I kept him and his girlfriend over in the spot where this whole crazy voodoo thing went down.” McCoy turned his head where he could see the captain’s face.

“Thank you, Bones, for saving him yet again.” He paused to clear his throat. “I don’t know if I could do what I do every day without him.”

  
  
  
_Sweet fucking hell_! _That’s it_. The doctor, staggered by his realization, felt the pieces snap together. _He’s in love with someone alright_. All of this glowering, the mood swings, his inability to talk about what was wrong, it all lead straight to this one stunning conclusion. Jim wasn’t in the throes of some shitty break-up, he was pounding his fists into walls over the frustration of wanting a relationship with someone who couldn’t possibly reciprocate his feelings.

“Come on, let’s let our favorite pointy-eared chum get some rest.” McCoy steered the captain away from the Vulcan and off to his private office where they didn’t risk being overheard by prying ears. If Christine got hold of this, she’d lose it. “How’s the ship, Jim?”

“That woman did a number on us.” He didn’t need to discuss the dead and wounded. The three occupied morgue drawers and mountain of charts for all of the burns, broken bones, lacerations, concussions, and such spoke for the crew. “We’re battered, but we’re mostly whole. Scotty and his people will get us back to fighting fit in no time.”

“So, when are we getting away from these damned diamonds? It feels like they’re cursed.” The doctor administered doses of fine aged whiskey to the captain and himself.

“We’re still waiting on Dragon and Seren to arrive. Once they’re here, Scotty wants us to take it easy on his babies, and Enterprise should chug on out of Melbek at a leisurely Warp Two. Probably four days in-transit to get us to the facilities at Overton Holdings.” Jim considered his tumbler like the liquid within was life itself. “What’s going to take us the longest is making sure Hillyard hasn’t left behind any little presents.”

“Booby traps?” McCoy took a deep swallow and savored the burn that warmed his belly.

“Exactly.” Kirk said. “This meandering to Overton will give us the time to figure out who was asshole enough to give a terrorist access to our systems.”

“Are you saying someone did this on purpose?” McCoy quickly developed a desire to see whoever this person was being granted a good old-fashioned keel-hauling.

“No, it looks like some dumbass doesn’t like our protocols for sending messages to and from home and they took it upon themselves to make their own comm console and hid it in an out of the way spot in the Jeffries Tubes.”

“Some people’s children.” McCoy shook his head. “All this because a member of the crew wanted to call his mommy?”

“It looks that way.”

“Christ, Jim, what’s the world coming to?”

Kirk looked over his shoulder in the general direction of the first officer’s bed. “I don’t know, Bones.”

McCoy took another sip, one last dribble of reinforcement before asking about things he didn’t want to but had to. “What’s the reason you couldn’t tell me, Jim?”

“Huh?” The captain’s attention re-centered on McCoy. “Tell you what?”

“That you’re in love.”

No denials, no witty comebacks, nothing, Jim’s jaw muscles bulged, and his head drooped forward.

“Is it because this person’s a man?” The doctor was fairly certain that was a minor detail, but there was a reputation this ladykiller felt he had to live up to.

“No.” He couldn’t bring his eyes up to meet McCoy.

“Is it because he’s your first officer?”

Deflated, Jim’s head went into his hands.

As McCoy thought about the situation, he could see how it happened, how this skirt-chasing loverboy got caught up in the wake of a personality so unlike anything he’d been around before, that the initial fascination that turned to friendship didn’t stand a chance of not turning into something more. Man, woman, on the spectrum anywhere between, the packaging didn’t matter because Jim loved Spock. “I don’t suppose you’ve told him this?”

Jim lifted his head, cheeks damp, and said, “What’s the point?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the point?’” McCoy didn’t want to have to give the captain a good smack, but he would.

“He’s got Mollie. . . He doesn’t need me.”

  
  
  
Tralnor opened his gritty eyes relieved to see that he’d gotten himself and Spock out of the computer. His cranium felt like it was full of oatmeal and his muscles stiff, but overall he was okay. His status sorted, he looked for Spock, seeing nothing, but felt the presence of the other Vulcan nearby.

“What you did, that was not wise.” Sha’leyen arrived at his bedside.

“I know.” His vocal chords, seemingly coated in sawdust, made it sound like he was choking. “How is Spock?”

“I have him svi’ritevakh, for the next few hours. I just checked on him, and he will not suffer any permanent damage.”

His ability to stay conscious doubtful, Tralnor started to drift off when Sha’leyen leaned into his ear and softly said, “The Captain is coming.”

Had the bed not propped him up, Tralnor would only have felt a storm of emotion rather than being forced to look it in the face. “Captain Kirk.”

 _I could beat you like a red-headed stepchild_. The captain’s eyes bore the evidence of recent upset, even with some of the doctor’s vaso-restrictive drops, redness remained. “Dr. Tralnor, I wanted to thank you for what you did today. Bones and Lt. Commander Sha’leyen explained to me what they could. I appreciate the danger you put yourself in to help Spock.”

Dr. McCoy started to take readings of Tralnor’s recovery. _How did I miss it_? _How_? _I’m with these two day after day after day. Of course, Jim’s in love with Spock. It’s only been right in front of my face for years now_. “You’re both pretty beat up. I’m keeping you and Spock in until tomorrow.”

“I have work I need to—” Tralnor tried to object. McCoy shut his protestation down.

“Don’t give me any guff, Professor.” McCoy made his point that though they were both doctors, only one of them had a medical background or the ability to confine someone to sick bay for the next week. “Or I’ll have Sha’leyen put you in a coma too.”

“Okay.” He relented.

“Is there anything we can get you that isn’t work-related?”

“I could eat a pound of chocolate and chase it down with a fifth of top-shelf vodka right now.” Something to get his frazzled brain into a place to start producing the right amounts of specific neurotransmitters. A healing trance wasn’t going to help. In his current condition, including help from Sha’leyen, his mind was too goopy to get to such a place. “But I’ll settle for a strong coffee, real cream and sugar if you’ve got it.”

“We’ll see what we can do.” Kirk volunteered. _Chocolate_? _Vodka_?

“I like chocolate, junk food, booze, and sex.” Tralnor blinked heavily. “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had those last two. . .” And Tralnor slept.

  
  
  
“He’s still your friend. Don’t kill that because you think he might have a girl in the wings.” Bones said once they’d hidden away from everyone again.

Kirk followed the list of repairs on his data padd. “She’s not a _might_ , Bones.”

“How the hell do you know? Have you asked him?”

McCoy huffed when Kirk swiveled the doctor’s desktop terminal toward him and punched up Mollie’s information.

“Do you get it now?” Kirk tapped the screen and turned it back so the doctor could see.

Blue eyes read line-by-line, all about the amazing woman in Spock’s life. “She’s—I’m sorry, Jim.”

“Me too, Bones, me too.”


	15. Chapter 15

Avery pinged Dr. Tralnor’s cabin. Billy the Sixth answered, looking worse for wear with eight sutures above his left brow.

“I’m allergic to Dermaplast, yeah.” Billy shrugged. “That’s okay because scars are sexy.”

“Sarah and I are going to head up to sick bay to see your roommate. We’d ask you to come along, but the two of us barely got permission. Any updates you want on him or vice-versa?” Avery, like a lot of the engineers, worked a full double watch. He needed to catch some rack time to be chipper for the morning but felt like he should see his teacher.

“Hey, lads.” Billy addressed the rest of the cabin. Even the Krampus was home, no thanks to the crew being kept out of the corridors as much as possible. “Any get-well sentiments for Dr. Tralnor? He’s got to spend the night at Dr. McCoy’s leisure.”

Avery caught something about cookies and poker. O’Dell said something explicit that was not, under any circumstances, repeatable. At least Avery wasn’t going to say that to someone he wasn’t sleeping with. “I’ll relay what I can.”

Setting off to meet up with Sarah, Avery heard someone following him.

“Lt. Avery.” The Krampus said.

“Lt. Seltun?” The Krampus had never spoken to Avery before, at least not by choice. Avery once made the mistake of asking the Vulcan a question about the vernacular use of the phrase th’i-oxalra, and if it meant the same thing in the same contexts as thank you, in Standard, did. Seltun sniped at him. Avery didn’t remember the exact wording anymore, but the gist of it was that ignorant hicks didn’t need to trouble themselves with a language they’d never understand the nuances of.

“If what I have heard is correct, Lt. Commander Tralnor and Commander Spock injected their consciousnesses into the Enterprise’s computer?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Avery affirmed. “And they did a damned fine job purging Hillyard’s virus.”

The Krampus took a second to consider something. Rather than saying anything more or properly drawing their short exchange to an end, Avery watched as the Vulcan skulked back toward his cabin. _Whatever_ , Avery thought. _I’m just fine with you being weird somewhere else, Seltun_.

  
  
  
“Brendan Tartt, Hamish Bonderman, Alicia Klein.” Kirk repeated the names to Commodore Sloan. “Brendan Tartt, Hamish Bonderman, Alicia Klein.”

“Captain Kirk, I understand how upsetting these sorts of things can be.” Sloan continued to spin straw into bullshit.

“Brendan Tartt, Hamish Bonderman, Alicia Klein. Say their names, Commodore.”

“The loss of a crewman is never easy.”

“Say their names, damnit.” Kirk exercised great restraint in not slamming his fist down on his desk. “Brendan Tartt, Hamish Bonderman, Alicia Klein.”

Sloan ran a finger beneath his collar and wriggled. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll pick this up in a few hours, eh?”

“They were people, Sloan, not bullet points on one of your stupid reports.” He’d just finished recording the messages and handwriting the paper letters of condolence that went out to loved ones left behind. “Those people are dead because you thought it would be amusing to hold back on our reinforcements. How many more corpses would be on your hands if my science officers hadn’t gone above and beyond to save this ship? Do thoughts like that ever enter your bean-counting head?”

Seeing he was getting nowhere in covering his ass, Sloan invented an emergency call on another line to shake the angry starship captain.

“Yeah, fuck you too, Sloan.”

The clock was pushing 2330. He was due to speak with Admiral Miranda Holt at 0620, where he planned to address his grievance with that moose-knuckle, Sloan. Interpol wanted a report on MV Sweetness and Laura Hillyard. Starfleet Security wanted the same report as Interpol, and since neither agency could stand the sight of one another long enough to share, he’d grant that identical request. An expanded meeting of Division and Department heads would gobble up a good ninety minutes before Dragon would be in contact and after he and Scotty got in another chinwag.

 _Well, the least I should do put my feet up and take off these boots_. His plan to go to bed was waylaid by his subconscious. Walking into sick bay, he stopped in to see Spock. The Vulcan’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that indicated he was in a deep sleep.

“I know you can’t hear me.” Kirk said at an almost-whisper. “And not that it matters. . . but, I love you.”

  
  
  
Fast, armed to the teeth, highly maneuverable, ships like the USS Dragon were designed to abate the likes of ram-raiding freighters such as MV Sweetness. Kirk swore he heard the Hallelujah chorus when the patrol ship made it into visual range.

“We’ve come across Hillyard before.” Dragon’s captain, Lyudmila Kuznetsov, had beamed over to see some of Enterprise’s war wounds in person. She scowled as she said the human supremacist’s name. “She is depraved. What else is there to call someone who kills not only in the name of racism but just for the sheer fun of it?”

“The word describes her well.”

“From what we can see—”

 _From what I can see_ , Kirk mused, _I think you and I are going to have ourselves a bit of fun this evening. We can both forget about our messy lives for a couple of hours. And boy howdy, do I need to forget about some things_.

“—Hillyard has never been so bold as to take on a Starfleet ship. She hates us but leaves us be because there are other smaller, weaker prey to feast on. There’s something of interest on the Enterprise, besides Melbek III, that made her launch that attack.”

“She and my first officer have a contentious history.” He wasn’t going to address any particulars.

“Your first officer is Vulcan, correct?”

“She wished Spock and another Vulcan officer of mine dead, and that was some of the milder stuff she had to say.”

“Then it makes a sick kind of sense that she’d try and punch so far above her weight.”

 _Not that far, apparently_. He was still dealing with the ripples of bewilderment that Enterprise nearly went down without a shot being fired.

Captain Kuznetsov was three years older than Kirk, looked at least seven years younger than she actually was, and had one of those Slavic faces that kept many a man awake at night. Yes, they were talking business, but the dialogue left unsaid, the knowing glances, the charge in the air, they both had something the other wanted and didn’t need to cuddle or coo to make the exchange.

“If you and Seren had shown up when I asked, not when Commodore Sloan made you, would you and Seren fallen victim to Hillyard’s virus?” Why did he insist on torturing himself with the answers?

“Enterprise would have been far away from Melbeck by the time MV Sweetness arrived. Based on what we’ve seen of your reports, Hillyard couldn’t have gotten through to Dragon’s computer. This isn’t just because of your security breach, may the universe take mercy on that bastard’s soul when you find him. Research vessels have different priorities than our showy patrol boats. That illegal comm station could not exist on my ship.”

When no one was around to see, Kuznetsov gave Kirk an appreciative pat on the ass.

  
  
  
Tralnor woke this time, nearly twelve hours after he passed out in front of the captain, with McCoy’s nurse staring him down. “I don’t know as I’ve gotten your name, Nurse?”

“Chapel, but you can call me Christine if you like.”

After spending a lifetime being scrutinized like a rare zoo animal, Tralnor paid no mind to Chapel’s lingering eyes. He massaged his temples before giving his neck a pop and getting his head in the right spot.

“You seem very kind, Dr. Tralnor.”

 _Oh, shit_. He sensed her displaced desire for Spock reconnoitering to focus on him. _This is not what I need right now_.

“You’re not harsh, not like other Vulcans. You treat people well, without them asking, without arrogance.” Chapel gave a closed-mouth smile and moved in a bit closer. “I know what it means when rings are worn like that. A widower at such a young age, you must miss the companionship a woman brings to your life.”

“I don’t miss ‘a woman,’ Nurse Chapel. I mourn the loss of a person who was murdered in cold blood, my friend, the mother of my youngest child.”

She didn’t want to hear what he said. She wasn’t thinking, just following the impulses of some internal drive to quench the sapping loneliness she lived with. “What about the other things, like physical love?”

“I’ve chosen to remain celibate in the wake of Amelie Grace’s death.” He wasn’t going to mention the possible rekindling of his relationship with Sha’leyen.

“Tushah nash—” She stumbled over the wrong words for what she was trying to say. _I grieve with thee_.

“ _Don’t_.”

Her smile fled. “Please, Dr. Tralnor, I was only—”

“Leave me.” The fingers of his right hand grasped at the rings on his left. Gone almost ten years, Amelie Grace’s absence was still raw.

“Please, no.” Chapel pleaded.

“Get out, now.”

“Consider that an order, Nurse Chapel.” The real object of her affection had arrived on scene.

Finally, she retreated, leaving Tralnor alone with Spock. “That still happens to me more than I care to think.”

Spock, still clad in sick bay’s finest, stepped into the exam area. “And to myself as well.”

“It’s probably time to start wearing lily of the valley perfume again.” Tralnor mentioned an old tactic from his undergraduate days. “People don’t want to fuck someone who smells like their grandmother.”

“I can see how that may work.”

“It’s a horrid fragrance, but it does have its uses. I got the idea when a girl in my Russian literature class walked up to me, told me I smelled like pure sex, and proceeded to lick me. Lily of the valley cooled her down considerably.” Tralnor realized he had not included it with his dopp bag for this mission. He’d ask Sarah and Sha’leyen if they might find something similar. “You’re doing well after our adventure yesterday.”

“My heart stopped, twice.”

“It was a lot for your first foray. This is one of those disciplines that you’re supposed to start small and work your way up to larger and larger projects before ever being set loose in a live network under attack.”

Spock had dark lines beneath his eyes and ambulated in such a way that he couldn’t and didn’t try to disguise his continued fatigue. Another good night’s sleep would set him straight. “Despite your apprehension and inexperience, you made the right choice taking me under, Tralnor.”

Not the smart choice, unavoidable choice, or logical choice, the right one. “Such a compliment is not necessary, Spock. We did what we had to, and the Enterprise lives to see another day.”

  
  
  
Released from sick bay, tired but not under the weather, Spock wanted to catch up with the captain and learn the details that didn’t make it into the reports he’d read that afternoon. He’d gone to his quarters long enough for a shower and a change of clean clothes, deciding it was late enough that he might as well take those few steps down the hall and see if Jim was home, so to speak.

USS Dragon was here, and USS Seren was due to arrive by 2200. Enterprise would not linger for long after the second patrol ship made it to Melbek III. He was doing the calculations for both transit time and in-facility repairs when his ears picked up a host of sounds a human would never hear through the bulkheads.

Skin slapping against skin, grunts and heavy exhalations, and a woman’s voice demanding, “ _Fuck me, Jimmy_! _Fuck me like you mean it_! _Harder_!”

And not for the first time, Spock turned around and walked away.

  
  
  
The door to the captain’s office slid shut, and the collective mood in the room dropped. “I just can’t believe it. One of the biggest opportunities in years and you left it.”

“For fuck’s sake, Silvio. Give it a rest.” Laura said. “I’m starting to get pretty disenchanted with the constant bitching.”

“The money—” He whined. Easy on the eyes, not half bad in bed, Silvio’s lack of confidence in her decisions was wearing thin. He was still irritated that she’d been put in charge of the Sweetness, when he’d been part of the crew out working the shipping lanes for years.

“We’re going back for the damned diamonds. They’ve never come off the list of priorities. AVDL is going to be so filthy fucking rich, we’ll just pay to take care of the degenerates and off-worlders and make Terra into the place it always should have been.” She scrolled through the final list of repairs and requests for Sweetness’ next port-of-call, noting that beyond a few minor scorches and a couple of snapped relay antennae, she’d gotten them away from the Enterprise before the much bigger ship did any real damage.

“When do we return?”

“Give it a few days. My sniffers intercepted some good stuff before we launched the trojan horse. Captain Sunshine warned all the alien-lovers at command that Melbek III was a plum. They didn’t believe him and aren’t inclined to. Once Enterprise is too far out to be of any assistance, it’s our badass boat against a couple of pea-shooting patrol ships.” She wished Silvio would piss off and let her get back to her plotting and planning.

“Shouldn’t we be worried about reinforcements?” Silvio tried to sit down, his ass barely grazing a cushion, when she whistled and told him to stay off the furniture.

“At the glacial speed it takes for decisions to come down from the top, we’ve got the time we need.” She went back to the repair list, unhappy to see that the condensation collectors on deck two were on the fritz again, but short of replacing the entirety of the de-humidifying system, there wasn’t much to do other than keep at that one weak spot every six months. The next item on the list was a simple fix that the crew could manage once the replacement part was ordered. Ready to read the next entry, a priority one message landed in her encrypted in-box. “Get out of here, Silvio.”

“Is that from the Big Boss?”

“I don’t know, and I can’t tell until you leave me alone so I can open it.”

Silvio shook his head. Daniel Shelley, chairman of the AnthroVision Defense League, wouldn’t want him in the room while talking to the Golden Girl. “See you later, Laura.”

She waited until he’d disappeared completely before switching over to her inbox. There, highlighted in green, was a message from one of her spies on the ground in ShiKahr. “Oh my, oh my, what do we have here?”


	16. Chapter 16

“Can you still see me?” Tralnor made the switch from the desktop screen to the projector he’d received for Rec Room 2. His assistant director of strings, Dr. Bella Vonnegut, showed up, life-size, on the wall screen. Assistant director of bands, Dr. Lola White, walked into view and was soon joined by drumline conductor Jamal Davis-Sanchez.

“Yep, we’ve got you. Not even much static on this end.” Dr. Vonna said. “You weren’t joking around when you said there would be times where you’d go incommunicado. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days.”

Tralnor liked that he could stand and walk around while taking care of business in this manner. He operated in a public space and didn’t have much thought either way if people saw what they already heard. And this way, he wasn’t trapped in a chair. “Out of my control.”

“You know what’s really out of control?” Dr. Lola pulled up a chair and scooted in close to Dr. Vonna. “Las Vegas Philharmonic has called every day this week wanting to get you to cover for Pierre Degas in September.”

“I gave them Odi’s information before I left for OCS.” Tralnor knew Vegas’ conductor was bull-headed, but this was too much.

“We’ve done the same.”

“Odi’s a great trumpet player, better than I am.” Tralnor’s friend and former section-mate from USC was an excellent musician.

“Well, they want you.” Vonna shook her head. “Jamal’s got all of the registrations made for district festival, including a larger room this year for warm-ups and storage.”

“Last year was a disaster I don’t want to repeat.” Lola referenced a list. “I’ve filled out all the purchase orders, Warren has the truck rental lined up, we’ve sent out uniform checklists, asked everyone to make sure they’ve got the right shoes, and busses are scheduled to meet us here at the music room by six in the morning.”

“Jamal, you’re taking care of the cameras, yes?” Tralnor didn’t much feel the need to have this faculty meeting, but they’d wanted to touch base before the competition in two days. He had the utmost confidence in their abilities to administer the program in his absence.

“Yep. They’ll ride up in the truck with me and Warren.”Jamal said.

Lola nodded. “That brings us to parent-teacher conferences.”

Vonna sputtered with laughter. “Some of the moms were nearly in tears when they realized you weren’t here.”

“They just don’t think Dr. V and I are as handsome as you are.” Lola joined in laughing.

“Mrs. Tan is convinced you’re going get eaten by aliens. Charlotte Brody doesn’t know if her precious boy can be taught by someone who’s bought into the ‘philosophies of the military-industrial complex.’ Oh, Anna Rothstein has a, help me out Lola, niece or nephew she wants to introduce you to.”

“Um, nephew, Darren, age thirty-two, supposed to be a lantern-jawed Adonis, is a dentist up in Menlo Park.” Lola held up a couture business card. “We tried to tell her you weren’t interested, but you know how she is.”

Yes, he did. Tralnor had taught all four of Anna Rothstein’s girls and spent all that time fending off the overly-concerned mother’s matchmaking attempts.

“Your Mu-ed undergrads are all back in LA next week for midterms. Student teachers are, as always, feeling overwhelmed, but surviving.” Lola put Darren the Dentist’s card away.

“I’ve been working with T’Roah, or trying to.” Jamal’s face tensed up. “I don’t know what to do with her. Its like she thinks we’re trying to sabotage her when that’s the last thing any of us want.”

Tralnor made no comment on that situation. T’Roah was a graduate student in the Conducting program. She had a brilliant understanding of the mathematics of music, knew the components of creating many types of compositions, she had a disconnect where a good conductor could offer clear non-verbal communication to an ensemble as to draw out the best performance. She was one of the three grad students who was directing Tralnor’s high school bands and orchestras at district festival as a practical exam in her own coursework. “We’ll just have to see how things go.”

“Okay, before we wrap this up, Summer Splendor?” Vonna had this year’s venue locked in, rehearsal space rented, and rosters started. “Once we get a playlist, we can figure out what holes we need filled and where to find those people.”

“I have Sarah David on tenor and Alton Avery on percussion. Sarah sings, and the Chief of Communications has a stunning voice. Lt. Uhura is happy to volunteer for our musical experiment.” Tralnor ran through his own mental tallies. “There are some fantastic musicians on this ship. We don’t have a lot of limits on pieces.”

“Okay. Wow, if you’ve got Sarah, then we’re doing _Scenes from an Italian Restaurant_. . .” Vonna went off, listing far more than could ever fit in one show. “And featuring just you on the piano?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. Once we get an approximate run time of everything else, I’ll decide. As for instrumental, I want to build from _I Want it All, Heart of Courage_ , and _Nothing But You_.”

He called the meeting to an end and turned to find he had an audience. Maybe they just enjoyed the novelty of something entirely different going on that they could observe that wasn’t going to try to blow them up or kill them? They seemed content, and he wouldn’t chase them off if they found being a fly on the wall at a high school faculty meeting soothing in some way.

The next call might make them laugh, and that too was a good thing after being held hostage by Laura Hillyard and losing three crewmates to her malicious meddling.

“ _How the fuck have you been, MacCormack_!” Joe Bergman hollered. “I was starting to wonder if you’d fallen into a black hole or some other fucked up space-thing that only exists to piss in your cornflakes because you look like you went ten rounds with a life-size boxing nun.”

“An astute observation.” Tralnor said, still bearing the remains of his graceless face-plant into the worktop.

“Question for you.” Joe always had a look on his face like he was going to run up and yank your pants down.

“It’s not about cows is it?”

“Haha, funny.” He leaned in to look at the camera like he was proud of something. “A little birdie told me you’re finally hanging up your monk’s habit.”

“Sounds like the band alumni gossip mill’s been working overtime.” Tralnor tried to avoid this topic so they might discuss _Celluloid Vokaya’s_ restoration.

“This would be what, the first time you’ve gotten laid in like ten years, and you don’t want to celebrate?”

“ _Film_ , Joe?”

“Snarfle wouldn’t want to see you like this, man. You know that, we all know that.” Joe used the nickname Amelie Grace was given at her initiation into the trombone section her freshman year. He’d never been able to address his former squad leader by her given name after she died, since to him that made her death real, final.

Twice in one day, Tralnor was forced to revisit that old, open wound. “No comment.”

“Ah, shit, Tralnor.” Joe rarely dropped his blustery persona, but this was one of those moments where caught up in memories of his friend, he backed off. “I’m sorry.”

  
  
  
Kirk tried to hold on as Kuznetsov pulled herself up out of bed. He just wanted the presence of another person, to hear a heartbeat, feel breaths that were not his own. She thanked him for a good time, got dressed, and wished him well.

Alone, without her to distract him, he was left with just his thoughts. He wanted to find Spock and merely be in his first officer’s orbit. But, he wouldn’t seek the Vulcan out tonight. Even after a hot shower, Spock could smell the sex on him, and it wasn’t that his friend disapproved of dalliances of this variety, but it brought up subjects Kirk wasn’t comfortable with right now.

  
  
  
Spock wasn’t disappointed in Jim, he was unhappy with himself for letting the man he loved rack up another one-night-stand in the absence of genuine intimacy. He didn’t care about the sex. He understood where and how it acted as a stress-relief valve for some people and social act for others.

From his own experience, he was aware of how good the physical sensations of intercourse felt, but there was a part of him that recognized he couldn’t enjoy it unless he was with someone who knew him and valued him as a person. The one time he’d engaged in what could be termed casual sex, Sohja was someone he’d been familiar with since he was a child and was not, in fact, a stranger or someone he’d met only briefly before sleeping with them.

He’d found, before the onset of the pon farr, the prospect of consummating his marriage to T’Pring was off-putting in a lot of ways, starting with the fact that she never allowed him to get to know her. Any attempts at becoming close were rebuffed. She regarded him as unworthy of his birthright to Clan Surak. The very idea of sex with her was frankly terrifying, especially in contrast to the tender way Mollie treated him in bed. In reality, he’d been glad the madness would take him through his wedding night, so he didn’t have to be cognizant of mating with someone who despised him.

Spock wondered if Jim was lonely in the arms of temporary companions?

  
  
  
Day one of four in transit to Overton Holdings, and Lt. Chavez was floundering about what to do with his damned violinist. There was no dreaded or disgusting task the Vulcan wouldn’t take on. The grosser and nastier a job, the more that man seemed to take it in stride.

Once he’d hoped that making Dr. Tralnor request a transfer to another department would be an easy task. Make the occupation foul enough, anyone with any sense fled, that’s how Chavez ran off people in the past he didn’t want around. This one? He wasn’t that lucky.

 _I’m not stupid. I know what all these jack-wagons in here think of me. And here you come breezing in, beautiful but useless, only to upset my apple cart, take my woman, and do some whiz-bang parlor trick that labels you a hero and gets you recommended for commendation_. “How is it going in there?”

Dr. Tralnor and Ensign Woodward were power-washing and sterilizing the two 10,000 liter holding tanks that acted as the reservoirs for the Type 1 and Type 2 laboratory grade water that the media lab used to prepare goods.

Woodward crawled out of the tank they were working on. “Just finishing up in here before we run the final steam cycle.”

Chavez found he desperately wanted to slam shut the access hatch and leave the pesky doctor in there to cook like a lobster. “Very good. After you’re done—”

“Is Dr. Tralnor in here with you, Kate?” Ensign Orlovsky didn’t see the boss and nearly yelped when he walked right into Chavez. “Excuse me, pardon, Lt. Chavez.”

 _More hero worship_? Chavez griped, “What do you need him for? It’s not like he’s actually a scientist or anything practical like that.”

“I don’t need him, Sir.” Orlovsky said.

“I do, Mr. Chavez.” Commander Spock stepped into the tank room.

  
  
  
Sha’leyen’s desk was cleared of everything but a large drawing pad, ink pens, and the Vulcan histories she’s brought from Belon. “Where did that toad have him hidden?”

“Inside the Type 2 holding tank.” Spock said as he and Tralnor entered her office.

“May I see this letter? Tralnor described it to me, but I won’t get the full effect of what T’Pau has requested without analyzing the writing.” She used a biometric scan of three fingers, two on the left and one on the right, to unlock the top drawer of a filing cabinet. Two more books joined the stack.

When he first read the message this morning that Tralnor had discussed this with Sha’leyen, Spock was irritated, but quickly came to the conclusion that she was a real resource because she might have an insightful interpretation owing to her Belonite background. She read it, scrutinized T’Pau’s precise script, and began transcribing the description of the sought-after artifact into ancient Golic Calligraphy.

“Now, if I translate this into Second Univocal Belonectic, you get this.” Her steady hand was such that if she wanted a second career after Starfleet, she could set up shop in ShiKahr and take commissions producing custom calligraphy and have a wait-list that was years long. Spock studied the words, seeing familiar forms, but unable to actually read the translation.

Tralnor nodded. “I see where you’re going.”

“I understand how you came to the conclusion you might have a chemical weapon or a concentration of something, that’s a good interpretation, but you need to read deeper between lines.” She circled five of the embellishments on the Belonectic that were not used in Golic Vulcan. “You recognize these?”

“I do.” Tralnor said an air of uneasiness settled around him. “Spock?”

“Please explain.” This was one of those moments where T’Pau’s advice on working with the Lyr Saan was invaluable.

“From the Second Univocal Belonectic, I make another transcription of just the words with these embellishments into Old Lyr Saan.” A third calligraphic variation, similar in form, appeared on the page. “Now the words we have are still nebulous but are starting to make more sense in context with the letter.”

Again, not knowing this dialect left Spock at a disadvantage. As someone who was born and raised in the most dominant culture on Vulcan, he’d never been in a place where he’d needed to learn something like modern Lyr Saan let alone an ancient localist tongue.

“In modern Lyr Saan, it looks like this.”

The embellishments were gone, replaced by the Golic system, some of it still gibberish to Spock.

“And the direct translation back into modern Golic, dropping the calligraphy,” Sha’leyen’s writing was more stylized than T’Pau’s, “gives us a similar paragraph with a much different meaning.”

She turned the drawing pad around so Spock could read the full presentation.


	17. Chapter 17

“— _Ensign, you can’t just_ —” The muffled voice of Petty Officer Stella Handler echoed up the narrow corridor leading to Sha’leyen’s office. “ _Don’t do that_!”

“Lt. Commander Reynan, why aren’t you at the—” Ensign Nate Shore stumbled over his own feet at the sight of the Division head. The young man couldn’t back out of the room fast enough. “Ma’am, I was sent by Lt. Jefferson to check on your delay.”

“Tell Rashida to access her inbox, Nate.” Sha’leyen said. Maybe if the head of cultural xenoanthropology did that once or twice a day, it would cut down on needless interruptions like this one. “I sent Etienne Bertin to fill-in for me.”

“I’m—I apologize, Lt. Commander. Uh, sorry?”

“Remember this rule, Nate.” Sha’leyen pointed at the door which prompted Handler to explain.

“Bioarch operates under the Vulcan adage that a closed door is a locked door.” Handler got a hand on his arm and steered him away from his blunder.

“Ensign Shore is a good kid, but Lt. Jefferson is teaching him some bad habits.” Office door now closed, and actually locked this time, she’d save them from further disruption.

She let Spock and Tralnor read her final translation as well as examine the process she used to get there. As they studied, she pulled the second book from the top of her stack. This was one of the volumes she kept locked up as an extra precaution.

Other than the two people in this room with her, no one else on the Enterprise could read these books without putting in considerable effort and access to a far more in-depth Vulcan linguistics database than the ship’s library offered. She carefully turned the pages, paying close attention to the hand-written annotations in the margins other people had left over the generations.

“T’Pau’s description was vaguely familiar to me.” Sha’leyen said as she continued searching for the right entries. “It reminded me of something my teacher, Zakhira Tay, once told me about. In her village, they called these Demon Cubes.”

She stopped on the page she needed, pointed to the illustration, and turned the book so the men could see an artist’s rendition of what they were looking for. To the uninitiated, it appeared like an intricately hand-carved chest of the kind one kept jewelry or other such trinkets in. Similar in size to a shoebox or small archival box, it wouldn’t seem out of place on top of a bureau or displayed on a mantle. “Of course, there are no such things as demons, but demons would be preferable to what these artifacts actually contain. Other parts of Belon use terms like Black Shadows or Incomplete Death to describe these.”

“That’s not a promising sign.” Tralnor’s psionic defenses bristled. His subconscious reaction registered to Sha’leyen as a coppery taste in the back of her mouth.

“I think the best term for one of these is va’au tavalik duv-tor.” Copy of a deadly shadow. “These boxes are essentially weapons that contain replicas of the personalities of some of the most devastatingly amoral and violent people to have ever existed. They are occasionally still found on Belon and are very dangerous.”

She’d gone her entire life without coming across one, and now she was drawn into an active search. What Tralnor called “not promising,” she called a baneful psionic landmine.

“I have never heard of such weapons.” Spock was fortunate not to have grown up in the shattered remains of a pre-Reform world. He knew there were insidious reminders of the past, extant, hiding, still ready to maim and kill, but this was the first they’d touched his life. “Would I be remiss to say this reminds me of a Katric Ark?”

“Similar, yes, but the spirit contained within this box is only a partial replicant of the original. It lacks the living element of the katra, but manifests the psyche.”

“What makes it jeopardous?” Tralnor’s weariness came from various encounters with artifacts of malice, and what he’d come across was mild in comparison to this deleterious casket. “I’m certain I will not like the answer.”

“As one of the mair-rigolauya, you won’t like the answer, no.” Sha’leyen opened up the third book from the stack and referred to passage she’d marked years ago. “Once activated, a tavalik duv-tor syncs to the brainwaves of the person, usually holding the box, but in the case of more than one person being nearby, it goes to the one who’s the most mentally compatible. It infests that mind, as forcefully as possible, merging into that individual as the dominant personality, resulting in a grotesque rebirth of—”

She had to stop and think of a description. The best way she had to convey what happened was in modern Belonectic. Though accurate, didn’t translate well into Vulcan or Standard. “The final result is a person who manifests the tavalik duv-tor’s temperament and carries the mission of war and destruction forward.

“The Vohr,” she used the word for meld as the best representation for what this blend of living and dead was, “has the same objectives as the tavalik duv-tor did as a corporeal being. Psionic abilities are heightened to a level not seen in the modern Vulcan population, outside of certain small groups.” She looked at Tralnor, emphasizing the likes of the Lyr Saan. “The Vorh is an indiscriminate mind rapist, brainwasher, a nearly uncontrollable force. Other people follow because they are irresistibly compelled to fight for the Vorh’s cause. It’s a scorched earth campaign. . . Words fail me for just how detrimental these creations are.”

“So, potentially, we could have the pre-Reform wars reignite? Is that what you are trying to get across?” Tralnor’s thoughts jangled, not wanting to visit that terrible outcome.

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

Tralnor asked, “And what happens to the person the deadly shadow takes over?”

“Like the mair-rigolauya who are involuntarily compelled to assume the fatal trauma of others, the unwilling host of a tavalik duv-tor does not survive becoming the Vohr.”

Spock thought about the implications of one of these tavalik duv-tor and chided his ancestors for creating such a horrible thing. It finally made sense to him why T’Pau was so secretive about what she was seeking and why she was so vehement to see destroyed. It couldn’t fall into the hands of the wrong people, nor should it ever touch the sands of Vulcan again. “Is the box stable enough to move without releasing the spirit inside?”

“That, I can’t tell you. Each one of them is slightly different because the boxes themselves are one-offs. I also don’t know if there is any way to effectively shield against one if it gets out.” Sha’leyen moved back into this mysterious set of books and looked for any helpful information. “What this does say is the Vohr is exceptionally difficult to kill, and a lot of that is it’s nearly impossible to get close enough to one to kill it. Of course, I don’t know how that changes if you’re going after it with a cruise missile or other remotely operated weapon.”

“We’ll have to destroy it before it gets out.” Tralnor said. “Does your history say anything about how to do that?”

“No. There’s nothing.”

“Is the box safe around non-Vulcans?” How was this vessel going to be moved, stored, or obliterated? The four locations he and Tralnor had come up with for where the tavalik duv-tor might be were places with high human populations.

“Vulcanids,” she said, including races like Belonites, “are psionically compatible enough with humans that I don’t think it matters if one of us or one of them activates it, especially if it came into contact with a complementary personality. Should someone like this Laura Hillyard stumble across a tavalik duv-tor, we must be very frightened indeed.”

Unsettled, Spock returned to his computer lab. He was still going through his systems to make sure Laura hadn’t left him any parting shots.  
He also made a mental note to speak to Lt. Jefferson about the way she handled her staff. She was a good anthropologist but was too lax in how she worked within Starfleet’s regulations. She’d argued against the weekly meetings of the anthro sub-fields and the sharing of approximately half the total anthropology staff. Jefferson wanted cultural completely separate from linguistics, which shared staff and resources with communications, and especially wanted the more astutely scientific archaeology and bioarchaeology (physical anthropology) off in their own corner, with their own people. Spock was, after years of dealing with Lt. Jefferson, ready to reorganize anthro, but not in a way she’d like. He wanted Sha’leyen as the overall head of anthropology, while still keeping her post as department head in bioarch.

His mind would not let go of Sha’leyen’s comment about Laura and compatible personalities. One of the hiding places for the tavalik duv-tor was in the Trego system, location of MV Sweetness’ home port. While the chances of these two particular evils meeting and melding were exceedingly rare, he could not deny the trickle of fear, rational fear, that accompanied these thoughts.

The desk comm chirruped. “Spock, here.”

“Ah, Mr. Spock, just the man I was looking for. Would you mind coming on down to engineering for a wee moment? I do believe we’ve found a snare your friend left behind.”

“Laura Hillyard is not my friend, Mr. Scott.” He said, a bit too forcefully, knowing the second officer was only trying to inject some humor into the situation. “I will be there shortly.”

  
  
  
“Dare I ask?” Captain Kirk wasn’t quite sure what the hell he was looking at.

“That, Captain, is the equivalent of a cherry bomb flushed down a toilet.” Lt. Biltmore said. “It was hidden so far in the depths of the computer banks we’re lucky we found it as soon as we did.”

Kirk tucked the data padd under his arm and continued to follow Biltmore to the closet-sized room where Spock and Scotty were trying to physically remove the specific server nodule Hillyard’s surprise had taken roost in, addressing the problem like a surgeon might excise a tumor.

“If we’re not careful and it notices we’ve cut the power supply, we’re up shit creek without paddles, if you’ll pardon my French, Captain.” Scotty looked like he was trying not to breathe too hard in case that was enough to set it off.

“Not to worry, Mr. Scott.” Kirk replied. He edged in as close as he dared and wondered if it might not be more practical to go the route of whipping the tablecloth off a formal banquet set for ten guests. Sure, glasses and forks would wind up all over the floor, but the majority of goods placed on the tabletop stay up there. Did yanking the node mean only minor irritation and disturbance? He probably didn’t want to find out.

He was satisfied with the practical approach they were taking when his heart jumped and cock twinged at the sight of Spock on all fours, ass in the air. The rest of him, hidden from view, was using those long fingers to detach this bit of the computer. Kirk looked away as fast as he could and immediately started thinking about tedious subjects, expense reports, wiring diagrams, anything to distract from the naughty fantasies playing out in his head.

The lust component of his love for this man took him unawares much of the time. He and Spock could be working on the most mundane tasks when the urge to rip the Vulcan’s clothes off and ravage him was both instant and overwhelming. _I’m going to need a cold shower tonight if I have any chance of getting to sleep_. “What happens if this, whatever it is, goes off?”

Spock removed himself from the access panel and gave Kirk a curious glance. “The engines are rendered useless, and the Enterprise is stranded until rescue tugs can get us the rest of the way to Overton Holdings.”

 _Fuck_! Kirk thought. _He can smell that I’m so horny I’m ready to literally explode_. “That could take two weeks. Let’s avoid that if we can.”

“Aye, Sir.” Scotty grabbed something that looked like a dental pick and went back to extricating the node. “We’ll keep you up to date on the details. Of course, if we come to a full stop, you’ll know what happened. Let’s pray it’s only my beautiful engines that go offline and not the inertial dampeners too. I’d rather the crew not come to harm.”

“I’d rather they didn’t either. Keep up the good work. You know where to find me.” Kirk retreated from engineering and bundled himself off to his quarters.

His mind could not let go of that image, Spock bent over, almost like he was calling for some attention. Boots off, trousers stripped, Kirk freed his now fully engorged penis from his shorts and stroked himself. What would it be like to have those hands, feeling fever-stricken, wrapped around his shaft, parting lips, tongue stimulating the head as his foreskin was retracted. . .

He cried out Spock’s name, his desperate wish that someday he might receive a reply.


	18. Chapter 18

Tralnor was of the mind that he didn’t care if he spent all six months of his tour crashing with the junior officers. He’d grown to like their company. The quartermasters’ office was on the verge of delirium in their upset over not having his private quarters sorted by now. The burst pipe and cleanup efforts had revealed further problems in that area of the ship and now extensive mold abatement needed to start.

He lay in bed, reading a stupid old novel about a bunch of idiots from Florida, who confused a stolen Soviet nuclear warhead with a garbage disposal, and the ensuing insanity. This was exactly the kind of, well, it wasn’t high-brow entertainment, but it was a distraction, and he needed that.

He’d just gotten to a scene where a burly cop and a corrupt construction company exec wound up handcuffed to a massive metal entertainment center in the wake of a couple of hapless New Jersey hitmen shooting out the television instead of their target. The rest of the protagonists had fled the scene for the airport to chase down the warhead.

“Is it really true that you haven’t had sex in ten years?” Chris O’Dell walked in the door, fresh from fucking someone in the last hour or so. “How can you stand it? I can’t go ten days.”

Data padd powered down, Tralnor addressed Chris and the others. “Yes, it’s true.”

“A guy like you must be up to his eyeballs in ass. I see the way people look at you. I see the way _I_ look at you.” Chris continued. “And don’t deny you hit for both teams.”

“I have never refuted that I am bisexual.” Tralnor finally confirmed, ending ship-wide speculation on the matter. He thought his orientation was blatantly obvious to anyone who paid attention, but humans liked having definitive labels on everyone and everything. So, there it was. “I have had sexual encounters with males and females and do not have a specific preference for one over the other.”

Seltun, who was loathe to engage with this group, suddenly showed interest in what was going on. Where Tralnor thought he’d find Seltun’s disgust at his disclosure, there was curiosity instead.

Chris went on, “So, it’s not like you’re dealing with a dearth of opportunity. People throw themselves at you. And I can’t imagine you as one of those who doesn’t like sex.”

“I like it a lot.” Tralnor said.

“What gives?” Andy Pickett joined in. “I don’t care where you like to stick it, a decade is a long time.”

He gave them a condensed version of his love life. He described himself as divorced once and widowed twice. All indications were that Sha’leyen died in grisly circumstances when they were teenagers. His second wife, Anya Willis, had wanted Tralnor’s cousin Martin, and the MacCormack family name/money/social connections, but tried to settle for the Vulcan and couldn’t. They were married less than a year, and she refused to grant him an annulment on the grounds that she thought she was entitled to an extravagant amount of spousal support. A judge ruled he didn’t have to pay her any alimony and he’d not seen her since that day at the Stanislaus County Courthouse. Then, Amelie Grace came back into his life. . .

And as for his college days, he was no stranger to the walk of shame. Guys, girls, sometimes both at the same time, he’d had fun. He’d met Amelie Grace in college where they’d become friends and non-exclusive fuck buddies. Damn, he missed her.

“After Amelie Grace died, I’d simply had enough trauma of that kind in my life. I was a widower twice-over by the time I was twenty-six. I had two girls to raise, jobs, grad school, I wasn’t in a place for a relationship, and casual sex had lost any appeal. Those ten years went fast.”

Seltun’s mind gasped while his face remained straight. The implications of the choice to stay alone struck hard, leaving the younger Vulcan in awe that Tralnor was still alive.

“Are you and Lt. Commander Sha’leyen going to get married?” Billy the Sixth popped into the conversation.

“I don’t know.” Right now, Tralnor just liked being in her presence, the way she seemed to pour cool water on his parched soul. She’d turned out an exceptional person despite her own suffering and torture at the hands of the Belonite warlord who’d claimed her as his prize.

Tralnor would very much like to marry her, but it wasn’t as easy as picking up where they left off as children. All he felt like he could do at this juncture was spend time with her and allow whatever was still between them to evolve naturally.

“She’s gorgeous.” Billy said.

“I think so too.” Tralnor agreed.

  
  
  
Sha’leyen was the only person in bioarch so late at night and did not expect anyone to disturb her studies. She’d been taking notes from the Vulcan histories, trying to glean as much information about tavalik duv-tor as possible. Ink and paper. Something about writing it out longhand made the facts stick in her mind better than if she was scanning passages into a data padd.

She switched volumes, going back to the one with the illustration of the box. She thought she’d seen mention of the context in which one of these horrid spirits was released. That detail could narrow down where precisely to look for it, a city as opposed to a star system?

“Sha’leyen, I was wondering if I might have a word?” Lt. Chavez walked straight into her office and planted himself on the purple love seat.

“Make it quick.” She shuffled all six books into a pile, spines facing away from him, dropped them and her notes in the open cabinet drawer, and locked it all away. Chavez was up to no good, and she needed to make a break for it or chase him off before he got too carried away.

He tried to offer a smile but grimaced instead. “Who is Dr. Tralnor to you? He told me you were betrothed as children and I keep trying to tell him that you’re not a Vulcan. He’s not making any sense.”

“We were bonded at age seven.” She slid two fingers down into a cracked drawer on her desk.

“But, you’re a human.” He stated, desperation clotted his tone and the aura he projected around himself. “You’re not like him.”

“No, Mr. Chavez, I am _not_ human.” She’d never minded much when people made that mistake. They’d say things like they thought she looked greenish because she was ill to find out she always had a green cast to her skin rather than a pink one.

“You don’t look like one of them. I’ve seen you laugh and smile, so you don’t act like them. You touch other people.” He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch her. “Not like one of them at all.”

“This is my natural hair color.” She said of the long cranberry-red curls on her head. “My blood is copper-based and my life-span longer than yours. I have psionic abilities that include touch telepathy. My eyes have nictitating membranes. My internal anatomy is not like yours.”

He shook his head. “How can you say that? Are you that ashamed of what you are that delusion seems better than reality? Sha’leyen, I can help you.”

Clutched in her fingers and placed on her lap was a small double-bladed knife that was as easy to throw as to jab by hand. “I fail to see why I would need help for my natural condition. Perhaps it is best that we both go to back to our own quarters. It’s another long day tomorrow.”

“Please, I can help you.” He pleaded. “Let me help you.”

“Go away, Mr. Chavez.” She’d spurned his advances in the past, and he never learned from rejection. He simply came back for continued dismissal. His infatuation with her ran deep and she’d not once given him any reason to think she was interested in him in a romantic sense whatsoever. “I don’t want anything to do with you outside of a professional capacity.”

Blood rushed his face, leaving him a blazing red, yet he refused to listen. “No, don’t say that. Please, don't say that. Let me take you to dinner, and I can show you what a great guy I am. You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”

“I am losing my patience with you and your advances. My answer was no the first time, and it’s still no.”

“But, Sha’leyen, I love you.” He warbled.

Her stern answer, “Take your leave before I make you go.”

Chavez, flustered now, unleashed his disdain. “You can’t possibly see anything of value in that pretty-boy cocksucker. How can you stand to be with a man who allows himself to be fucked by other men? Sucked by other men? On that alone, he doesn’t deserve you.”

She expected Chavez to say any number of nasty things, but a homophobic rant was not one of them. “Leave before security comes and removes you.”

“You can’t expect a pillow-biting violinist to be faithful—”

Sha’leyen stood where he could see her weapon. “Get the fuck out of my department.”

  
  
  
Kirk wanted to put it down to a combination of Dr. Tralnor “Captain Chaos” MacCormack and an underlying case of space madness, but what he’d gleaned told him that Lt. John Chavez was a massive prick who earned every drop of angst and disrespect sent his way.

Lt. Commander Sha’leyen, someone whom Kirk had nothing but high regard for, was not a crazy, knife-wielding manic that jumped out of dark corners and attacked for no reason. When the overnight reports hit his desk, he’d not expected a stabbing to cross the blotter.

Chavez’s wound was through the meaty part of his hand, breaking the second and third carpals on the right side. She’d also severed a tendon, but the most egregious injury, according to the media lab boss, was the bruise to his pride. _Well, that’s too fucking bad_ , Kirk thought. He’d take fifty Sha’leyens over one Chavez.

“Captain, you wished to see me?” Spock arrived, right on time, showered and changed after spending the entire night in engineering. Laura’s booby trap was proving harder to cut loose than planned.

“Seems like your Division has seen more than its fair share of excitement recently.” _I wish you knew how good you smelled right now_. He tried not to grin.

“I have spoken to Sha’leyen. She gave me her side of the story.” Spock’s eyes lingered on Kirk, not an unpleasant sensation.

“She stuck him because she was afraid he was going to attack her?” Kirk scrolled through the security report again. _That’s right, keep staring at me. Tell me you like what you see, Spock_. “Is that right?”

“Affirmative, Captain. He charged at her, and she stopped him.” Spock took his classic stance, clasping his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders, and unknowingly accentuated his physique. “Lt. Chavez has made amorous overtures toward Sha’leyen since he came aboard twenty-three months ago. She made it clear to him from the outset that she did not want anything to do with him on a personal level.”

“Chavez hasn’t exactly taken well to Dr. Tralnor, who he thinks is competition for a contest he’s not even in. What’s this about slurs?” Kirk would choose Tralnor over Chavez any day of the week. He didn’t fault Sha’leyen for avoiding this guy.

“He has taken offense at Dr. Tralnor’s sexuality.”

Kirk’s brow wrinkled. “In this day in age? Who still thinks like that? Why would Chavez care?”

 _Maybe that’s why this hasn’t happened between us? Is that it? Am I afraid of scum like Chavez, afraid that who I love will tarnish my career, upset my family, drive away friends, what_?

“He thinks that people like—” Spock looked like he was making an abrupt life-or-death decision. “He thinks that people like us are not worthy of love or companionship.”

“Who’s not worthy, Vulcans or bisexuals?”

Those dark brown eyes regarded Kirk.

“ _Both_.” Spock said, stricken by something that robbed the color from his face.

The air almost had a static charge as Kirk got up and walked over to the one person he knew he wanted to spend forever with. Scant centimeters separated them as he moved in closer than he normally would. Feeling Spock’s warmth, hearing his breath, the way it hitched and up-ticked. Now, Kirk grinned as he cocked his head slightly to the left so he might proffer this first kiss as a sign of his enduring love.

Heat radiated on Kirk’s lips and his eyes closed. . . The entire world hurled to the floor.

 _Goddamnit_! _Why the hell does shit like this always have to happen_? Kirk picked himself up and jabbed at the desk comm. “Scotty, status report!.”

Crashing and clanging echoed throughout the ship, including some industrial-strength noise coming over the connection from engineering. “She got us, Sir. I don’t quite know how, yet, but when I figure it out, I’m going to tan that woman’s greasy hide.”

“Spock, you better get down there.” Kirk said, their intimate moment shattered. “Great, look at this, she’s left me a message.”

The desk terminal spooled up the pre-recorded missive on auto-play. “Oh, Captain Sunshine, you naughty boy. Pick yourself up off the floor and try to understand when I tell you that this particular little souvenir isn’t personal. It’s merely a failsafe that I added into the mix to make sure you won’t stop me from getting my hands on those diamonds. You can’t double back and support whatever friends you called out from Command, simple as that. Enjoy your now extremely leisurely trip to wherever.”

She let loose with that blood-chilling smile. “Also, while I’m thinking about it, would you mind telling Tralnor that I wish I was the one who killed his wife. I didn’t plan that mission, I wasn’t near earth at the time, or I might have been lucky enough to participate. Some in the AVDL were pissed that our people made the trade of those kids for Mrs. MacCormack. I’m not. All traitors to their species earn a blade across their throats.

“Ta-ta, Comrade Hero.” She waved like a little girl might send her daddy off to work in the morning. “Until we meet again.”


	19. Chapter 19

By evening, all the crap was up off the floors in sick bay, and cabinets were in the process of reorganization as seen to by the swing shift. Dr. McCoy retired to his office to complete the last of his chart notes before slinking off to his quarters where the process of clean-up had yet to start.

That fucking Hillyard had turned every person and movable object on the ship not bolted down into flying projectiles. Sprained wrists, concussions, broken noses, long-bone fractures, various blunt force injuries, and some penetrating trauma kept medical busy all day.

Frazzled, McCoy must have spent ten minutes on dictations when his ears picked up a slight drip pit-patting into the carpet tiles. His nose clocked the odor. “ _Son-of-a-bitch_.”

A reluctant peek into it’s hiding spot, and his eyes registered what his other senses knew. His beautiful bottle of Tennessee whiskey lay in pieces with only millimeters of the oak cask-aged liquid remaining in the jagged glass still capable of containing fluid. It was all he could do to get up and walk away. The angels got more than their share today.

  
  
  
“It did not matter what approach we took, Mr. Scott. Laura’s trap was rigged to spring regardless of our efforts.” Spock spent ten hours cooped up with the irate engineer. Now that Enterprise was stable, they could flee to indulge in stress-reducing activities of their choosing.

“Aye, you say that.” Scott shook his head, unable to shed the rage and impotence wracking him. He was too emotionally involved, took this assault too personally.

Spock stepped away, left engineering, and ascended to deck three. Evidence of Enterprise’s abrupt halt and momentary failure of inertial dampeners littered the corridors, dented and smeared the bulkheads, and left nearly everything he owned strewn about his quarters. The idea of disengaging from chaos flashed and burned as his door swept shut behind him.

Earlier, Spock overheard a crewman describing her amazement at the sheer amount of “shit” left lying around on a starship. Pens, coffee mugs, half-eaten breakfast, crates, nearly everything on board shifted in a coup/contra-coup pattern. The initial stop threw them forward, like a vehicle hitting a wall, and that same energy reverberated back toward the stern, giving the ship a hard shake before technology stepped in and halted further damage.

Unable to function in squalor, he set about tidying up his living space, focused on using this action as a way to set part of his mind at ease. Bed made, toppled items uprighted, he opened the closet. The presentation case for his commendations finished sliding off the shelf and sailed to the floor. He let it be, instead drawn to a piece of paper that settled on the shoulders of his hanging tunics and robes. He recognized his mother’s writing: _Glenapp Castle, Ballantrae, South Ayrshire (Carrick), Scotland. 11 November 2234_.

Flipping the paper over, he was greeted by a photo he did not realize was in his possession. A grouping of fifteen young children, six of whom were Vulcan, stood outside in the rain, lined up on the steps leading down to a Victorian garden. Glenapp Castle loomed in the background. Cold, wet, miserable, every expression in that picture despondent, it was a reminder of his very first visit to earth. He stood on the lowest step, between Mollie and her older brother John. The little girl clung to Spock, both seeking the warmth of one another’s bodies in the face of the bone-invading damp and chill.

Aged four-and-a-half years, that trip also acted as Spock’s initial foray into his diplomat father’s world. He’d been there, with Sarek and Amanda, to witness an historic event, a socio-cultural merger of Clan MacCormack and Clan Lyr Saan. To this day, the smell of haggis made him sick to his stomach.

The desk comm in the other part of his quarters let out a distinctive chime, meaning only one person could be calling him.

  
  
  


“I’d ask what the hell is going wrong out there, but you probably can’t talk about it.” Mollie was relieved to finally have gotten ahold of her friend. She didn’t expect to hear from him every day, but given the circumstances, she thought they’d have spoken a lot sooner than this. Spock’s face tightened, and his eyes went dark, but the changes in his face were so subtle most people didn’t realize his mood morphed from pleased to see you to you’re not going to fucking like this.

“Okay, so we won’t go there.” She said. “I’ve got the final draft of our article for _Psiopsychology Quarterly_ finished. I’m hitting send right now so you can give it one last glance.”

“You are most expedient, Mollie.”

“That’s not the reason I called, Spock.” She’d never bothered trying to modulate her facial expressions around him, so he expected her mischievous smile. “I want a progress report.”

He was obviously tired and not one who played dumb, but he wasn’t following.

“You and Jim?” She took a sip of her coffee, fresh this time, and while she didn’t think he and his captain had eloped in New Las Vegas since the last time they’d talked, she’d hoped for some headway. “You’ve at least talked to him, right?”

Spock looked straight ahead, silent.

“ _Right_?”

Nothing.

“Oh, Spock. What am I going to do with you?”

“This morning, I attempted to tell him of my—dah-guv’es—but I could not actually say it.” He still struggled to come to terms with the homoerotic elements of his sexuality. For him, it was another log on the bonfire of ways he was not like everyone else, an additional shameful trait out of his control.

Mollie spent years trying to convince him that he wasn’t abnormal in his attractions. “It’s an essential part of you, Spock.”

“It is not logical to want. . .”

Their last conversation made it seem like he was doing well in this regard. Was it moving from that sort-of fantasy stage to the practical side that dredged this negativity back up? It killed her to see him this way, so conflicted about something he could never change.

“Give me reasons.” She’d have to argue him down from his position. He wasn’t thinking about the happiness or completion he’d find with Jim.

“The disgrace to my family. I do not think they would understand my choice of partner.”

They’d had this debate several times before, but always in the theoretical sense, the T’Pring is your future so don’t fall prey to misgivings sense. “You know they worry about you being alone the same way we worry about Tralnor. You made it through your first Time without taking a mate, but that’s not a guarantee you’ll get through it twice.”

Panic quaked in his eyes.

“ _No_ , don’t you go there.” She headed off a misunderstanding of terrifying proportions. “I will always be here for you, and taking you through the Fever is an unconditional part of that. What if there’s a repeat of the last time?”

He wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. Why would there be a command performance of the hell he’d endured if she’d be the one helping him through it?

“I guess she never told you.” Mollie didn’t want to be the one to dump this detail on him. “When she found out you were coming home, T’Pau got in touch with me.”

An unforeseen shove off a cliff could not have drawn such a display of surprise from this man. “I know nothing of this.”

“She knew T’Pring was going to reject you and stepped past her squabble with the Lyr Saan. She never imagined events would play out like they did.” Mollie felt unsolicited tears leave hot streaks on the sides of her face. “I was on board the VSA ship, RV Tekeh, in the absolute ass-end of nowhere, with a research team. We were eleven days away from you at maximum warp, and that was only if Enterprise was going balls-out to meet us in the middle. Short of violating the laws of physics, I never could have gotten to you in time. We never wanted you to go through what you did. _I am so sorry_.”

“Do not cry, Mollie. You are not at fault.”

She sniffled and wiped at her face. “The likelihood of finding you a new, mentally compatible mate in such dire circumstances was impossible. T’Pau understood that ours would not be the traditional tel-tor of marriage and wanted us to proceed regardless. She told me your parents lobbied for me as your childhood bondmate. She vetoed me, chose T’Pring, in light of my being one of the Lyr Saan, and actually said that she regretted having done so. Do you know what that tells me?”

Still absorbing what she’d said, he shook his head no.

“I am a psionic human side-show freak who’s also a T’Kehr Temple Ko-tek’ru Kaylara t’Lyr Saan. If I am deemed an acceptable match for the heir-apparent of Clan Surak, Jim Kirk will be endorsed without issue.”

“That still does not address the fact that Jim is a man. What of children?” He acted like he didn’t know what she would say.

“You know the answer. I made you a promise the very first time we had this conversation.”

“You were fifteen when you gave me that pledge.” He said, as though their youth at the time negated that verbal agreement. “You would still do that for me?”

“I stand by my word.” _You were what gave me life, and I would return the favor to you_ , she thought. “When, if, you and Jim decide its time for a baby, let me know. Just because I won’t be your wife doesn’t mean I won’t birth your children.”

“You are a good person, Mollie MacCormack.”

Able to smile after her mini-meltdown she thanked him. “Well, we’ve got your family and kids knocked off the list of reasons you think Jim is a no-go. And honestly, with him being right there with you, I think that makes him a perfect choice, especially once you add in all the little details you’ve given me over the last eighteen months. It sounds, to me anyway, like he’s got a special affinity for you that goes beyond normal friendship.”

“I do not want to harm his career trajectory.” He didn’t react as Mollie laughed at the statement. “He’s very young and very talented. I will not impede that progress.”

“Starfleet officers are married to one another every day and still get promotions and billets together. Next.” She could see his apprehension lifting.

“What if we are not sexually compatible?”

“That’s a valid concern, but nothing to sink a relationship over before you ever sleep with the guy. Be forward, find out what he likes or doesn’t, cross-check that with your own preferences, make a Venn diagram. The point is, you don’t know until you try one another out if you’re simpatico in bed.” That he could even talk about this individual matter with her was a promising sign. “You may even teach each other some new tricks.”

“What about you, Mollie?”

“What about me?”

“You are willing to make sacrifices for me that almost no one else would or could. I do not want you to be lonely because I am with Jim.” He was still afraid of hurting her even as she pushed for him to spread his wings and seek the love he deserved.

“Friends forever, you and me, which means I’ll never be alone.” She said. “I know we would have a successful, stable marriage, but to do that right, we’d be forced to eschew what makes our friendship work for the false mantle of a kind of love we simply do not feel. And that might very well destroy us.”

“If it does not work out with Jim and I still _need_ you?” It galled him that nature played so dirty that such arrangements had to be made.

“We can plan ahead this time, and I’ll be wherever you are.”

He closed his eyes and ordered his thoughts before saying, “You are one of the only places I can call home, one of the few who accepts me unconditionally. Thank you.”

_I wish it wasn’t that way, Spock_. “You are welcome, forever.”

  
  
  
Rampant doubt and self-disgust slowly lifted like a San Francisco fog burning off by the afternoon. The palpable fear from the moment where he thought she’d told him the pon farr was a devil on his back she would not help him slay died back too. Undulating emotions more or less reined in, he had something she needed to know.

“Mollie, there are details I cannot discuss, but Enterprise is currently suffering the after-effects of an encounter with the MV Sweetness. She’s captained by Laura Hillyard.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Holy shit, Spock.”

He made the decision to tell her more than he should according to Starfleet regulations. This wasn’t a ‘fleet/civilian casual conversation. Lives were at stake when Laura was involved. “She launched an attack on the ship’s computer, locking everyone out. I had Tralnor take me into the system.”

“ _You what_?” Her spine sagged. “I know you don’t believe in luck, but you’re both so motherfucking lucky you got out of there alive. . . What did we do to have that cuntfaced bitch back in our lives? Please tell me Enterprise blasted her ass off. . . You’re not saying anything, Spock.”

Her eyes pleaded at him for the news that this carbuncle dead or at least being held in a maximum-security prison block. “ _Spock_?”

“She got away before we had the chance to shoot her down.” He held back on the whole truth, but Mollie knew Laura’s modus operandi and filled in the blanks.

“Where is she now?”

“If I knew, that information is classified.” He didn’t want to shut her out, but there was only so much he could reveal.

“Watch your back out there, Spock.”


	20. Chapter 20

This was Tralnor’s first time alone with Captain Kirk. He’d get a feeling for this man as a single entity, not playing off his foils, Spock and McCoy. “You requested my presence, Captain?”

“Come in. Take a seat, Dr. Tralnor.” _Don’t make me order you like I do Spock. You don’t want to be standing for what I have to show you_.

Tralnor followed that unspoken directive. For a non-telepath, Jim Kirk had a remarkable ability for projecting his thoughts. This was not a once-in-a-while stress-reaction projection that all humans were capable of. It was a semi-conscious process wherein the captain was capable of directing individual statements at specific people.

_What is that nasty fucking smell_? Kirk cleared his throat and reminded himself where Tralnor worked.

“I came directly from the media lab, Sir. I apologize for my condition. You said this couldn’t wait.”

“You need to see something.” Reluctance welled out of the captain. “I was asked to relay some information to you, but I think its better if you get this news firsthand.”

Laura Hillyard’s frozen image popped up on a screen. By the end of the video, Tralnor’s fingers dug into his palms to the point of bruising. “This is the first lead in Amelie Grace’s case in eight years.”

Incredulity washed over from the captain. “Lead? The xenophobic fucks who killed your wife are still out there?”

“Her murder remains on the books as an open-unsolved homicide.” Tralnor had to close his eyes for a second, dizzy at the news her killers were another millimeter closer to facing justice. “No one knew it was AnthroVision until now. Police suspected that a supremacist cell, not directly connected with mainstream groups, had done it but never proved anything.”

Kirk shuddered internally. Though he didn’t know Tralnor well, he was angry for him, with him, that Amelie Grace went to her grave and her perpetrators went free. “Forensics? Video evidence?”

“The highjackers went in fully Dipped. Biological trace evidence from them was all fake, and the biometrics from the security footage was useless.” He still got that helpless feeling when he talked about the law enforcement angle. Police did everything right and worked relentlessly only to come up empty.

“How do you fake that?” _And what the fuck is Dipping? Sounds like some sort of kinky sexual thing_.

“Dipping is the vernacular term for a method criminals use to hide in plain sight. If you were to go through this process, you’d start by taking a massive dose of chimera nanobes.”

Kirk tried to figure out what Tralnor said but didn’t have the background. “Chimera what?”

“Illegal for use in anything except for research purposes, chimera nanobes temporarily give chordates an extra genome that lets scientists run all manner of experiments. For the criminal element, they use it because that new DNA sheds in your blood, saliva, urine, and mucus membranes. That’s part one of Dipping.” Tralnor wished he didn’t know these details of the depths of deviancy. “Part two, you’d have every single hair on your body removed at the root followed by an equally extensive dermal abrasion. Following a skin polishing, your body is literally dipped in a breathable biological sealant. From there, you’re taken into an ordinary spray-tan booth and blasted with a coating of lab-grown skin cells like the ones used on burn victims. Hairpieces, makeup to alter the structure of your face, shoe lifts, prosthetics, you head out to wreak havoc as something nearly impossible to catch. The only thing you can’t change in a Dip is semen, and Amelie Grace, thankfully, was not raped.”

“You know, I get hit with a lot of new or unusual concepts as a part of my daily life, and I like to think I’m good at taking what comes my way. It’s not often I’m left disgusted.” A principled man, Kirk could not identify with the kinds of people who’d highjack a ship to commit murderous hate crimes.

“It wasn’t just my wife this specific team murdered.”

“They fucked those kids up pretty bad. I don’t care that they were Vulcan. Young people who witness brutality and persecution of that kind—” Kirk cut himself off vocally, but his mind struggled to turn back a riptide of death/pain/fear and the horrors of a holocaust he’d barely survived. “Let’s just say I know from personal experience.”

_I can tell from the look on your face. . . I forgot you’re an empath. I’m sorry you had to feel that._

Tralnor wanted to tell him not to feel sorry but didn’t think it prudent to respond to what Kirk “said” nonverbally. “At the starbase, my wife ran into an old friend of hers from school. All three of us had been in the marching band together. On the security footage, it looked like she and Jock were having a great time catching up with one another. She went to catch her flight, and two of the AVDL stayed behind and followed Jock.

“Jock Balloch was a Starfleet officer, an ROTC guy, who was on his way to see his family before he shipped out for his new assignment as the second officer aboard—”

“Farragut.” Kirk said. “He never showed. We were supposed to collect him at Shelby Orbital. We waited for three days only to be told he’d been found dead. I never did learn the details.”

“He didn’t make it out of earth orbit. He was found beaten to death in a seldom-used maintenance hub two days after he disappeared.”

“Goddamn. No forensics?”

“None.”

“You know, I never met the guy, so it wasn’t like I lost a friend, but I still felt his loss. I was going to be working with him every day. It took a while to get my mind to accept that he was gone.”

“I think you would have liked him. He had a great sense of adventure and rarely met a stranger. You remind me a little of Jock, you’ve got the same cocky smile.”

_Do I have a cocky smile? I guess I do._

“Can I turn over the part of Laura’s message where she’s talking about the murder?”

According to the rules, Kirk should say no. “Only if you can find a way to send it anonymously. My higher-ups would shit themselves otherwise.”

  
  
  
Sha’leyen had spent her day confined to quarters and, once she’d remediated the destruction from the ship’s stall, split her time three ways: meditation, study, and cross-stitch. The first two items were so deeply ingrained in her daily routine that she found herself off-balance if she didn’t do them. The third was pure indulgence.

Her first bunkmate aboard the USS Yuri Gagarin introduced her to the colorful, exacting craft. It held appeal because it was so far removed from what Sha’leyen did as a professional, she found it relaxing and satisfying in that she got to work with her hands. Weddings, birthdays, just because, she gave the finished ones out to everyone.

She’d given her statement to Mr. Spock this morning. He knew enough about her background to comprehend her startling reaction to Chavez rushing her. The security chief cleared her of any disciplinary violations as she’d acted in self-defense. Exile to her quarters was a formality until security ticked all the right boxes and filed all the paperwork.

Another twenty minutes of creating a picture of a peacock with needle and thread, an idea arrived on the scene. Stitchery set to the side, she squatted down to open a drawer, then pulled it off the runners. Hand scrounging around the dark hole, she hit on what she was looking for.

The paper envelope was hardly worse for wear than when she’d placed it in there eight-and-a-half years ago. Unwinding the string closure, she opened it up and poured three finger-sized stoppered vials onto her bed. Contained within were two herbal-based psiopsych drugs, in their most stable, powdered or crystallized forms. The third. . .

The Vulcans called the first one torabrayek because it could be used in sporadic cases to force a mind into a state of equilibrium. The second powder, a putrid sulfury yellow, was limein, the mask, and this drug made one’s mental shields nearly impenetrable. Combine torabrayek and limein, and a user’s psionic talents multiplied, augmented exponentially. In an untrained/unbalanced mind, such a compound turned someone into the telepathic equivalent of Godzilla rampaging Tokyo.

Light blue granules, about the size of table salt, ketro’nistin looked harmless in the third vial. She hesitated to handle it, knowing how many thousands of lives were destroyed by this chemical. Ketro’nistin had no therapeutic merit, a weapon of sinister creation, it existed to turn mair-rigolauya into receptacles of death.

What if she could convert it to an aerosol form and used it against the Vohr?

  
  
  
“I didn’t think you people liked alcohol. At least that’s what the pointy-eared one keeps telling me.” Dr. McCoy arrived at Kirk’s office just as Tralnor was getting ready to go.

Tralnor let Scotty’s moonshine roll around on his tongue. How the engineer managed to make a smooth spirit of such high quality in the belly of a starship, Tralnor did not know. “It’s a CNS depressant, and Vulcans are not fond of anything that might compromise their control. That said, the amount of hard liquor it takes to get me drunk, or even tipsy, is in the liter-plus range.”

“Why bother drinking that then?” McCoy pointed to the glass in Tralnor’s possession. “If it’s not going to do anything for you.”

“The ritual of social activity.” He started. “Plus, the flavor is interesting, and it clears my sinuses.”

Kirk was amused. “Your sinuses, Dr. Tralnor?”

“Its like paint thinner, strips out the congestion.” He said. “I also drink a lot of coffee for the same reason. I’ve got a human face and a Vulcan upper respiratory tract. The two don’t always coexist harmoniously.”

“Well,” McCoy felt like he’d fallen into a parallel-parallel universe, “good to know a few of our human vices are helpful to you in some way.”

The conversation meandered until the doctor let the captain know Lt. Chavez’s stab wound was repaired. “That boy, he doesn’t like you, even a little bit, Dr. Tralnor. As he was coming out of the sedatives, he made sure all of sick bay knew. Dumb little bastard actually thinks he’s got a chance with Sha’leyen.”

The captain said, “That reminds me, Dr. Tralnor, I’m curious about something.” _I need to figure out if what I heard this morning was real or wishful thinking_. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want. How much of the Vulcan population is like you in terms of sexuality?”

“Again, modesty and embarrassment keep those numbers from being released. Where the World Health Organization compiles those stats and publicly shows them when they’re relevant to epidemiological data, Vulcan clamps down.”

“Because of course they do.” The doctor grumbled.

“Within the Lyr Saan, prevalence is likely around three-to-five percent that someone is not exclusively heterosexual. I cannot speculate if that holds true to the rest of the planet because I don’t know if Lyr Saan genetics are at play.”

The captain and the doctor, who’d started out looking hopeful as Tralnor deigned to answer, were disappointed.

“What I can tell you about non-heteronormative people on Vulcan is that we’re not discriminated against. A few families may have some initial disappointment that their child won’t follow in the path to the most commonly seen example of marriage, but kids aren’t disowned, parents don’t try to force queer kids to become straight. Vulcan culture as a whole is very accepting in this regard, even if they won’t publish any numbers.”

They’d worried that infamous hardass, Sarek, would react badly to any hint that Spock might have an attraction to men. The doctor dared to relax a little at that knowledge that Spock and Jim getting together was not going to cause another rift between father and son.

Kirk wasn’t yet convinced. That answer may suffice for any other person but this was about Spock. “But wouldn’t you say that at its most basic level that a homosexual relationship is fundamentally illogical?”

“Is it?” Tralnor queried.

Kirk shrugged as he spoke, trying to hide how much he wasn’t looking forward to hearing any more on this subject. “What about children? Is that not one of the primary purposes behind marriage? For Vulcans, anyway?”

“Even dating to pre-Reform times, homosexual relationships are not viewed differently than heterosexual ones. Marriage is separate from reproduction. Marriage is a social contract, a way to merge families and interests, to redistribute wealth. It’s also used to cheat our unfortunate biological quirks. Practiced in such a way that ensures no one is alone during their Time, marriage preserves lives. Sexuality and gender are not used as part of the criteria to determine if someone can get married or have children.” At this point, Tralnor couldn’t tell if he’d granted the captain any relief.

“When Sha’leyen was chosen for me, it was because she was compatible in personality and psionic abilities. Our families were amenable to one another. She wasn’t picked just because she was a girl.” Tralnor could not speak to Spock’s experience or why it had gone so terribly wrong. “If there’d been a more suitable male candidate, I would have been bonded to him instead. And before you ask, my parents and the matchmaker knew of my future preferences well ahead of when the search for a suitable partner began.”

“Then how is reproduction viewed as separate?” While human norms didn’t require marriage as a prerequisite for having children, there was a general consensus that life followed a rubric and that children and marriage went hand-in-hand.

“Let’s say Dr. McCoy and I got married. We are not expected nor required to have children. No one is. If we do want them, there are various means by which we can have them. No one way of propagating the next generation is seen as superior to another.”

“Okay.” _That doesn’t really answer my question_.

“Single people do have kids. Others, for one reason or another, have children, but not with their spouses. I wasn’t married to the mothers of either of my girls when they were born.” Tralnor found it hard to tell if what he said made sense. “And, there is no such thing as an illegitimate child.”

  
  
  
Later, when Kirk and Bones were by themselves, the doctor turned and said, “Hey, this could be very good news for you.”

“Probably not, Bones.” _My lips were so close to his, I could nearly taste him_. . . “Probably not.”


	21. Chapter 21

“It is _you_. What is it this time that could not possibly wait until an appropriate moment?”

“Why are you answering this line?” Mollie, suspicious that Sajak was screening Sarek’s personal calls, wanted to know.

“The ambassador has a right to do his duties unencumbered by human trivialities.” The long-time aide was never comfortable with the interpersonal relationships his boss had with the people of the planet he was the ambassador to. “He never should have given you this number.”

“That’s one man’s opinion, Sajak. I would appreciate it if you’d get the ambassador for me. Otherwise, I’ll have to take the consulate shuttle up to San Francisco and have this discussion with him in person.” She glanced at her schedule for the rest of the day and started formulating cancellation notices for her classes and a reminder to call the concertmaster at the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra to tell her she’d miss tonight’s rehearsal. _Not that losing an English horn player was a tragedy_ , she thought.

“No, stay in Los Angeles. Don’t come here. I will retrieve him.” Sajak skulked away from the screen.

Mollie looked around her office until her eyes landed on the picture collage posted to the wall near the door. A testament to her student days, she kept it around because it almost always put a smile on her face, even when dealing with a numb-nuts like Sajak.

“Greetings, Mollie.” Sarek’s somber face filled the empty screen.

“Good afternoon, Sir.” She’d reached out to him on this line many times over the years, almost every instance serious in some nature, but she’d never had to contact him over impending death and violence. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it's important.”

“Confidential?”

“Absolutely.” Mollie’s mind choked on the words as they fed to her vocal cords. “Laura Hillyard has come out of hiding.”

  
  
  
Heads whipped around as Tralnor passed through the halls from his quarters to Rec Room 2. No one on the Enterprise, save for his two former high school students, Spock and Sha’leyen, had ever seen him in anything but his Starfleet uniform, and now he was clad in a hand-tailored vintage-style suit with a cardinal and gold striped bowtie and braces.

Today, he’d avoid the rigamarole of the media lab and participate as well as he could in his students’ music festival. Laura’s havoc meant what should have been a mostly empty room was nearly full with people who, with permission of their superiors, got to be an audience due to sheer lack of anything to do.

“I would like to warn everyone now, you’ll probably hear some yelling and cussing when I go live.” Tralnor typed in another code, turned on the cameras, and waited for his staff to answer his summons. Dr. Lola waved hello, and the shrieking began.

“— _holyfuckingshit_ —”

“ _At least they didn’t cut his head off_.”

“ _Oh no_!”

“ _Those rotten bastards, they’ve defaced a national monument_.”

Such was the flowing commentary from some of the hundred-twenty-five-plus high school students congregating around his image. The chatter only stopped when he held his right hand in the air and made a fist. “T'nar pak sorat y’rani.”

They replied, in unison, “T'nar jaral.”

That formal greeting signaled the beginning of the warm-up session.

“Thank you, and good morning.” He said. “While it’s unfortunate that I cannot be with you today in person, know that I’ve got all of you on my mind.”

He’d managed to get Sarah David as his aide for the day, and she brought him the festival itinerary. As was usual for these events, the large ensembles performed first before people broke off into their solo and small ensemble entries. The unique situation his program was in today would see all of his large groups playing back-to-back in the same space. Philharmonic orchestra, chamber orchestra, symphonic winds, concert band, big band, and jazz band had about three hours. It was a damned good thing he’d trained his students to be efficient. Now, if the adjudicators could keep up.

“I want to speak to the seniors, then we’ll officially begin our warm-ups.” The group separated, leaving him with thirty-two students. “You need to know that it has been an honor working with you over these last four years. I’ve witnessed as each of you has grown and matured as musicians and as people. Come May, when you set out on the next phase of your lives, it will be with the understanding that you are capable, contemplative, and extensible.”

They nodded along, several faces showing traces of melancholy regarding their inevitable transition to adulthood. He wished them well in this competition. Just as he readied to dismiss them and regroup everyone, Amy Rothstein approached.

“Did you get our gift, Dr. Tralnor?”

He had the small box, still wrapped, on his desk. The card had told him to wait until festival to open it. Sarah retrieved it for him, and he held it to his ear and gave it a quick shake. Nothing was broken.

“We hope you like it.”

The paper, worn at the corners, tore away. He was the proud owner of a coffee mug bearing the inscription: _Instant Humanoid, Just Add Coffee_! “Very fitting.”

“You won’t get the other part until you come home.” Ryan Saito said. “We signed you up for one of those clubs where they send you a half-kilo of frou-frou whole beans each month. And, we got you a new coffee machine.”

“That one in your office had to go.”

“Thank you very much.” Tralnor was already looking forward to the stockpile of coffee.

  
  
  
Stretching, breathing exercises, and a short recitation to clear their minds, the high schoolers left for the gymnasium where the large ensembles performed. This left four people behind, two conducting grad students, and two composition undergrads. Tralnor gave them a brief rundown of what he expected to see from them. Three of them were fine with his requirements, having known from the beginning of the term what elements went into this practical exam. His problem child, T’Roah, made her case for the eleventh time in twelve weeks that she be allowed to conduct from an electronic score.

“At USC, we use paper scores and sheet music.” He stated, again. “Lt. David, why is that?”

Sarah entered the view of the camera. “It’s an essential element to the art form of conducting and orchestral performance. Printed media is more apt to be retained by the brain in terms of cognitive load, persuasiveness, and attention span.”

T’Roah attempted to argue that may well be true for human brains, but Vulcans were different. Tralnor shut her down with four recent citations from science publications _Wel-ek’tal_ and _Shi’nahp Sakihtek_ stating the same thing as Sarah.

Discussion over, the connection to earth placed on hold, Sarah said, “Wow, she’s really nervous.”

 _And unprepared_ , Tralnor thought.

  
  
  
Lt. Uhura, after slogging through thousands of line-items and banks of ghost data in the queue waiting to be written over, found a tasty nugget regarding the illegal letter that let Laura Hillyard infiltrate the Enterprise. Whoever sent it, thought they’d cleaned up after themselves by deleting the original, not counting on each file on the entire ship being unique. There were minute details that set the letter apart from others of its size and type.

Following the document itself back to the terminal it was composed on, Uhura located the place it once occupied before tracing it to a unique set of login information. Evaluation of that login showed only one person used it and it always entered into the same handful of terminals.

“Gotcha.” She allowed herself the tiniest feral grin. “Captain Kirk. The letter writer has been found.”

  
  
  
People filled the bleachers at Patterson High as Tralnor’s staff ran their camera check. He recognized other band and orchestra directors, his students’ parents, and kids from other schools who all wanted to see what his groups were up to this year.

Philharmonic was seated, and Dr. Vonna ran them through their scales and pitches, tuning the ensemble with itself and as much to the room as possible. She turned on the podium to face the audience. “Hello, I’m Dr. Bella Vonnegut, Assistant Director of Orchestras for Turlock High School. I can tell by the looks on everyone’s faces that you’re wondering why you’re seeing me instead of Dr. Tralnor MacCormack.”

A low buzz of conversation hung around the bleachers, including someone loudly asking if Tralnor was single, but Dr. Vonna kept on. “I know you were all looking forward to one of his short lectures about physics and this performance space, but you’ll have to do with a few words from the stars.”

“Today, I’m coming to you from the USS Enterprise, where I’m at the beginning of a six-month assignment.” Tralnor liked how Jamal and Warren set up the split screens so he could see the audience/adjudicators, conductor, and the students in the orchestra. “I’d like to speak briefly on the subject of trigonometry before I turn everything over to my staff.”

The people on his side of the connection, officers and crew alike, were interested in this mention of math. What was this crazy Vulcan getting at? The audience in Peterson, California, started grumbling. What was this crazy Vulcan getting at?

“Tuning a piano, an orchestra, or two piccolos—” He let them laugh at the joke. Everyone knew tuning piccolos was damned near impossible. “—is all dependent on harmonics. The individual notes an instrument puts out are made up of sine waves of varying length and amplitude depending on the hertz frequency at which its played.”

  
  
  
“Well, Mr. Spock, this is some letter.” Kirk felt the blush spread up his neck and into his face and ears

“You are embarrassed by the contents, Captain?”

“ _Um, no_.” Kirk was so glad Spock remained aloof in the review of a five-thousand-word pornographic fantasy. The captain considered himself worldly in delights of the flesh, but this was enough to make a bronze statue hot under the collar. “Just very aware that I usually don’t read this sort of thing at work.”

 _I’m thankful you insisted that we leave the bridge to look at this_. “Spock, I think you and I should pay our creative writer a visit, then escort them to the brig.”

  
  
  
Both orchestras and symphonic band done, Tralnor scrawled some quick notes on Warren Lindiwe’s turn on the podium. His first graduate student passed with ease. The undergrads had done well too.

Concert band seated, Dr. Lola warmed and tuned them. As he’d done for the last three groups, Tralnor introduced them and said a little something.

“I’ve had other educators ask over the years why THS plays so many obscure pieces by unknown, long-dead composers. I have an affinity for old films, especially the music that scores them. During the First Epoch of Motion Pictures, generally considered between 1924 and the eve of World War III in 2026, some of the most riveting and innovative classical music ever written was composed specifically for use in film. Designed to convey emotion, setting, and pace, film scores tap directly into the human condition and as such deserve to be preserved.

“This is music that’s no longer performed, so it’s no longer heard. Some of it collects dust in archives, some is reverse transcribed from extant films. Most of it is simply gone, lost to war, time, poor preservation techniques, and apathy. The classical music community, however, is finally starting to understand just how important this part of our history is, and is striving to save what’s left of that legacy.

“I arranged the following piece for concert band last summer so it could be evaluated and approved by the California Music Educator’s Association in time for the district festival. Turlock High School presents music from the motion picture _Quigley Down Under_ , composed by Basil Poledouris. The track is simply called _Main Title_ , as it is the piece that opens the film. Take it away, Dr. Lola.”

  
  
  
Two locations checked, and no one knew where the letter writer had sneaked off to. Subordinates tried to find them. Security looked in the usual haunts. No joy.

“There is one more place we can try, Captain.” Spock said.

“Do tell.”

“Rec Room 2.”

  
  
  
Captain and first officer stood in the back of a full house. Kirk admitted he didn’t know a lot about music and the only instrument he played well was the radio, but he was hard-pressed to believe that he was listening to a high school band. He’d heard so-called professionals that didn’t sound this polished.

He scanned the faces of the people enjoying the show on this side of the simultaneous video feeds, looking for the one person who left them limping along on one-quarter impulse power until the tugs met them tomorrow to more safely drag the Enterprise back to port.

“To our left, near Dr. Tralnor’s desk, second row.” Spock said in a light tone that Kirk’s human ears almost couldn’t pick apart from the band.

  
  
  
T’Roah ascended the podium, and Tralnor turned to a new page in his notebook before pulling her score to the top of the pile he’d consulted against for the other three. _Russian Christmas Music_ , by Alfred Reed, one of the few pieces ever reverse transcribed from an original band composition into an arrangement for orchestra, was released in 1944. This was a standard for high school and college bands which was one of the reasons he’d chosen it for T’Roah. Thousands of audio and video recordings of this piece were out there. He knew the second she raised her baton, she’d not taken advantage of those resources.

She didn’t look at her musicians, staying buried in the score, anticipating the page turns. Tralnor’s high schoolers held it together, well-rehearsed enough to not follow T’Roah off her bridge. At four minutes and twelve seconds in, she leaned over to preemptively grab a corner to make the next flip.

“Oh my god.” Sarah said, loud enough for most people in the rec room, but not enough that it went out over the microphones. She saw T’Roah’s initial mistakes and recognized before the grad student did when the situation was irredeemable. Her hands clamped over her mouth in a moment of horror. When her hands went down, she said, “She just failed.”

Score dumped on the floor, T’Roah had no choice but to try to finish out the piece, but couldn’t remember all the time, key, and dynamic changes. Not that she’d have done a good job of communicating those with her musicians anyway. The final chord ended, and she should have held a fermata that kept their instruments up for a few seconds before a cut-off, but she walked off instead, Dr. Vonna chasing after her as she left the gymnasium. Audiences on both sides of the galaxy sat in stunned silence.

Tralnor put his link on hold.

  
  
  
“What’s this about, Sirs?” A blue-clad lieutenant did her best to stay poised in front of the ship’s top dogs.

“Lt. Rashida Jefferson, you are under arrest.” Spock faced down the cultural anthropologist.

“Are you crazy? What for?” She looked around, waiting for someone in the crowded room to come to her defense. When no one spoke up as the charges were listed, initial alarm turned to agitation. “I never pegged you for a lunatic, Commander Spock, but I suppose you’d have to be one to spend all these years working out here.”

Red shirts surrounded Kirk, Spock, and Lt. Jefferson and she began to cry like a child caught in a lie about stealing candy from the corner store.


	22. Chapter 22

“I want you to ponder a couple of things over next few seconds. One, how did you think you could possibly beat me? Two, your colleague, Captain Kuznetsov, exercised discretion and intelligence in scrambling the fuck out of here. Why did you not follow her example when she called the retreat?” Laura’s skin, after years of life on Sweetness, suffered the onslaught of Melbek III’s natural sun almost immediately. The rare instances she’d made planetfall in the time she’d been on the run, were exclusively at night.

She walked along the front of the captured contingent of officers and enlisted from the USS Seren. The sensible amongst them were smart enough to show their fear, and she had respect for that. It was the macho shitheads, the ones who even as they stood in neat rows, hands behind their heads, held hostage by ten people with plasma rifles set to high-dispersal, who thought they could take her down, that she had absolutely no tolerance for.

“But you, Captain Franklin, you decided to gamble.” She stood in front of the man who’d placed all fifty-one of his crew in peril. Franklin, used to throwing his hulking size around, fumed that this tiny woman had him by the short-hairs.

The sound of earth moving equipment started nearby. Fortunately, Sweetness was hauling a load of hard rock mining machinery. The company Laura and her crew were contracted to would just have to wait for their big toys to arrive.

“Do you hear that?” She pointed toward the racket. “That noise is your destiny.”

One of her crewmen arrived and opened a polished hardwood case that looked something like the flat, rectangular box an elegant silver service was kept in. He lifted the lid, and she pretended like she was counting something on her fingers, giving the impression that deep down, she was just tits and a gash, nothing to really worry about. She smelled the fear sweat decreasing. Another person approached, presenting a plate of pastries. She made a show of taking three dainty bites of a cherry turnover, then she reached into the not-silverware box.

Again, the intelligent ones knew what she had, knew to be scared. Morons, and there were more in this crew than she thought possible given Starfleet’s lovey-dovey approach to recruitment and training, thought she was joking around with them. “Ladies and gentlemen, what I’ve got in my hand is a gorgeous little piece of human history.”

She held it up for all to see, letting their eyes gaze upon it, and brains mull it over. Some didn’t recognize it as a threat. “This is the Walther-P38. Isn’t it beautiful?”

A space-jockey in a gold shirt gave a horse-laugh. He didn’t think it funny when the butt-stock of a plasma rifle crashed down on his head.

“Faces forward!” Laura shouted. “The P38 was the close-combat weapon of choice for a legendary army that dared to stand up for humanity in the shadows of those who’d rather see the planet fall into the hands of the dictatorial edicts of forced diversity. The P38 is small, simple, effective.”

None of Seren’s crew recognized the pop for what it was, until a woman in red pitched forward, blood and brain tissue bursting from the new crater in the back of her cranium. “Now, we march.”

The first ten of Seren’s crew were lined up on the edge of a trench Laura had her guys dig real quick rather than immediately turning their attention to dislodging behemoth diamonds from the ground. Never afraid to get her hands dirty, she randomly targeted the seven bullets remaining in this magazine at the bases of their skulls. The bodies that didn’t fall into the hole, she kicked in. The three arbitrary survivors were taken by additional rifle-bearers and locked in a cargo container that some smaller mining equipment came down in.

Magazine ejected, fresh one slotted, the ritual repeated itself four more times. The shots echoed in her head. Her face and hands, flecked with the blow-back gore of white matter, bone shards, and red mist, remained spattered as she felt no pressing need to wash up. The twelve survivors were brought out to cover the bodies of their brethren with soil.

Captain Franklin had the gal to cry for them, dragging the Commander insignia on his sleeves across his weepy eyes. It was his fault they were dead, disobeying Kuznetsov like he did. He stared at his first officer’s nearly headless corpse, whispering her name like she’d jump from the trough and comfort him.

“Unless you want to try on a 9mm bullet for size, Franklin, I advise you to start moving some earth.” Laura didn’t need to sound cross. The threat of her antique was enough to get the fallen leader into a groove.

“Liam, get Doc Hoskins to come down here with a hypospray full of methaqualone and chlorpromazine.” Laura stopped one of her people as he drifted past. He thought she was a total ghoul, and he liked it.

“He’ll want a reason why he should leave the ship.” Liam said.

“Tell him I’ve found us a new plaything.” She pointed the muzzle of her pistol at the only blue shirt scraping dirt back into the hole.

“I see. He’ll be delighted.”

“Look up to the sky, Franklin. See what else you’ve wrought.” The big man didn’t respond, kept his face to the floor, and hands shoveling. Not until she got the toe of her boot under his chin and physically wrested his head toward the heavens was his humiliation complete.

Coming down through the atmosphere, multiple streaks of light were the last remnants the USS Seren.

  
  
  
Lt. Jefferson refused to talk to anyone, even her appointed legal counsel. Short of beating a confession out of her, she’d keep her mouth shut until forced to enter a plea at her court-martial.

Kirk asked Spock and Uhura pick up on their search through Jefferson’s onboard life the next morning. Tired, frustrated, he wanted to throttle the shit out of this idiot anthropologist who’d decided getting her rocks off was more important than the lives and safety of two hundred other people.

Now the captain had a decision to make, spend the evening alone in his quarters where all he’d do was fume, or grab a sandwich in the officer’s mess and pop into Rec Room 2 and see what fun and games were going on there. The only reason being social won out, he walked past the entrance to Rec Room 2 before picking out his food and saw Spock and Bones watching the show.

Ham and Swiss on wheat, not his favorite, sounded infinitely better than peanut butter and jelly or siracha tofu with bean sprouts. The doctor and first officer had saved a seat for him. He had to admit, it felt nice to be wanted.

“She say anything, Jim?” McCoy looked like he wanted to throttle the shit out of an idiot anthropologist too.

“Not a word.” Damn, the ham was synthesized. It felt weird in his teeth, more like reconstituted ham salad than an actual piece of meat.

“Well, I suppose I wouldn’t be too gabby either if I was looking at triple homicide charges. I don’t know her all that well, so I can’t comment as to the extraordinary entitlement it takes to do something like she did.” Bones shook his head, bewildered. “Makes me wonder how she was thinking.”

“She wasn’t exactly using her brain, Bones.” The food was a lost cause. “If she were a man, you would say she was thinking with her dick.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jim.” McCoy swiveled to look Spock in the face. “He’s just yanking my chain, right?”

“She was writing to a boyfriend in Austin, Texas, and was rather graphic about what she wanted to do with him.” Spock said.

Feeling some of the blush return, Kirk said, “Think of every lie about sex you ever told your buddies as a teenager, but knock it up a few notches.”

McCoy’s upper lip curled. “It’s days like this when I fucking hate people.”

. . . _and that’s when I smell you, your spicy masculinity making me wet before I even touch you_. . . Kirk’s brain recited remembered lines of Lt. Jefferson’s letter.

. . . _hands wrapped tight around your searing hot flesh before enrobing you with my mouth, feeling you bobbing at the back of my throat as I swallow you whole_. . .

Was it suddenly hot in that room? People had been in and out all day and the combined body heat? No, that was a stupid idea. The captain wiped his brow and tried to listen to the flute choir coming in live from California.

. . . _your lips laying claim to my body_. . .

. . . _the exquisite torture of your cock slowly sinking into me_. . .

. . . _torrid streams of come flooding my slick passage_. . .

“Captain, are you unwell?” The last, or maybe the only person Kirk wanted to see him like this, brought him back to reality.

“Spock, I, uh, need to, forgot about something. _Be back later_.”

  
  
  
“What the hell was that all about?” McCoy watched as Jim almost ran from the room.

Spock was as obviously confused as the doctor. “I do not know.”

The doctor didn’t want to meddle in the love lives of his captain and first officer, but at this point, he almost felt like it was his duty to intercede. The situation at the top of Enterprise’s hierarchy was teetering on the precipice of dysfunction.

“It’s not a break-up that’s got Jim down in the dumps.” McCoy said.

“I told you the captain was not seeing anyone at this time.” Spock just had to get in a dig about being right.

“Nope.” _You’re a smartass, Spock, and the real kicker is that you know you are._ “Jim is ass over teakettle in love. He’d shout it from the rooftops if he could. I’ve never seen him this hung-up on someone before. This person is smart, sexy, and everything he’s ever wanted.”

The Vulcan, who was rarely anything but poised and bull-headed, seemed to pale and shrink down like a kid who just witnessed his dog get hit by a car. “What makes you certain?”

“I got it straight from the horse’s mouth.” McCoy smiled.

Spock didn’t stutter or stumble like Jim. He simply got up and walked away, leaving McCoy to wonder if Laura Hillyard might not have planted something in the water.

  
  
  
The only way to make the shower run any colder was to fill the cubicle with ice. Kirk didn’t care that he was risking hypothermia. He didn’t even feel the cold anymore. Too nonplussed to remain standing, he slid down the wall and planted his ass on the floor. Here, the freezing jet covered more of his skin’s surface area.

“He’s not mine to desire, not mine to hold, not mine. . .”

“ _Captain Kirk, incoming transmission, Priority One._ ” The damnable comm system spouted off, taking him away from his self-constructed glacial getaway. “ _Repeat, Captain Kirk, incoming transmission, Priority One_.”

Barely shoveled into a uniform top, towel still around his waist, Kirk sat down and turned on his terminal, opening the connection. “Admiral Holt, good evening.”

Miranda Holt was in her mid-fifties, at least that’s what her public biography stated, and presented herself as someone half that age. Rumors of extensive cosmetic procedures made the rounds, but no one knew for sure. “I wish it were a good evening, Captain, I really do. I have to ask, have you smoked out that rat-fink who let this Hillyard character disable your ship?”

“Yes, Ma’am. We found her this afternoon, and she’s now in custody.” Kirk intended for that news to go out with the next morning’s bulletins and reports.

“Dragon and Seren got into a firefight against MV Sweetness in the Melbek system earlier today. Captain Kuznetsov didn’t want to get into a pissing contest with a ship that’s a fortress of firepower. Commander Franklin thought he had MV Sweetness on the ropes. USS Seren was destroyed.”

“How many?” Kirk tried to square this news with his recent memories of interacting with Franklin. The guy in Seren’s center seat was a bit of a chest thumper, but Kirk’s impression of the man was that he had a few more brain cells than to single-handedly take on a ship like the Sweetness.

“Fifty-two in all.” A pained expression played across her face.

“I’ve got Lt. Jefferson in the brig. What about Commodore Sloan?”

“Legal is drawing up a warrant.”

“Fifty-five total.” Kirk said. “On Sloan. Brendan Tartt, Hamish Bonderman, and Alicia Klein are Enterprise’s dead.”

  
  
  
Naked, unworthy of their uniforms, Seren’s remnant population was ordered out of the shipping container. Hands bound behind their backs, they were not allowed any modesty either. Bare feet smacked against deck plates in a barren cargo bay.

Laura stepped into the space. Freshly washed and primped, smelling of the light citrus perfume she favored, she’d reverted into the AVDL recruitment poster. “I want to start off by telling you just how lucky you are to have happened across me and not one of the other ships in the AVDL Fleet. On MV Woebegone, Captain Mbele likes to set alien lovers on fire before the ship’s systems take over and suck them out of an airlock. Aboard MV Summerwind, that rowdy crew has a knack for fucking race traitors to death. MV Crystal Skies, is a roving dump, where Captain Jorgenson would lock you all in a tiny room to cannibalize one another.”

She visually assessed the leftovers, making snap decisions about who was worth selling, who was worth keeping, and who was going to make the best entertainment. The girl with one green and one blue eye was a keeper for engineering. Obviously, Franklin had the highest entertainment potential of the eleven tainted humans standing in front of her.

“Where’s Veddah?” The other female in the group dared to ask. “You drugged him and took him. Where is he?”

“We’re awfully bold this evening.” Laura said. “Don’t worry, darling. Your Vulcan is being taken care of.”


	23. Chapter 23

_That didn’t go as planned._ McCoy tried to think of what exactly set those two off and meeting up where they could screw each other senseless was not the answer. Dr. Tralnor, from his perch at the front of the room, turned and looked at him like he’d done something wrong.

Music on hold, Dr. Tralnor beaconed the doctor out into the hall. “What just happened?”

“What do you mean?” _Hell, I don’t know_ , the doctor thought.

Jacket off, cufflinks removed, sleeves rolled up, Tralnor appeared every bit the stereotypical disappointed father. “It felt like I got hit by a bomb, closely followed by a wrecking ball in there.”

“Well, Dr. Tralnor, I can’t discuss—”

Tralnor lowered his voice and leaned in. “You can’t do this to him. It’s cruel.”

“Now, you hold on a second, Mister.” McCoy objected. What was it about these pointy-eared bastards that twisted him in knots?

“Tell him or don’t. You can’t string him along and expect him to intuit the answer like this is some trashy romance novel.” Tralnor uttered. “He doesn’t understand.”

“I don’t see you broaching this subject with him.”

“It is not my place, Doctor. You may think I’m pussying out, but unless he poses direct questions to me, I have to keep my mouth shut.”

Snide, McCoy rolled his eyes and said, “Isn’t that convenient?”

(Most of what I know about Kirk and Spock’s unrequited love for one another comes directly from the empathic abilities that I cannot shut down.)

It took the doctor a second or two to realize Tralnor’s mouth hadn’t moved. Jaw slack, he blinked and stared at the not-so-innocuous music teacher.

“Should I volunteer this information of my own volition, not only is it in extremely bad taste, he will view it as defraudment. I know you don’t think very highly of Vulcan cultural norms, Dr. McCoy, but I am required to show basic decorum to this virtuous man.”

“Dr. Tralnor.” Lt. David leaned into the corridor. “They’re waiting for you.”

“I’m on my way, Sarah.” Tralnor pulled back.

Left alone in the hallway, McCoy was unsure of where to go or what to do.

  
  
  
At the midpoint of Alpha Shift, Enterprise observed a minute’s silence in honor of those lost aboard the USS Seren. After those sixty-seconds were up, the crew eased back into what they’d been doing. Sha’leyen closed out her meeting with the newly consolidated xenoanthropology section.

Most people seated around the long table were still in shock that their friend and colleague, Rashida Jefferson, nearly got them all killed. No one seemed to have objections to Sha’leyen’s sudden ascent to a position that didn’t exist until late last night. She cut everyone loose and began her own trek back to bioarch.

None of them had seen it coming. Rashida, of all people! Sha’leyen never warmed to Lt. Jefferson as a person, but their professional relationship was adequate. About the only thing Sha’leyen had been sure of about that girl was that she’d resign her commission the second Enterprise turned in for her refit. Rashida wanted back into the safe, coddling arms of tenured academia.

Once in her office, she got into her locked drawer, pulled the books and notebook, and set the three drug vials on her desk. Spock and Tralnor were late. She wondered what Chavez was doing this time.

  
  
  
A veritable flotilla of tugboats arrived to help the stricken Enterprise on her way. Two of the six were civilian ships, and those captains barely stopped themselves from drooling all over the place as Kirk escorted the whole lot of them down to engineering.

One of the Starfleet tug captains, Etta Horsecapture, had a particularly reverent look on her face as they met up with Mr. Scott. She went over to an intermix console and laid a hand on it. “Its good to be back, old girl.”

Nearing forced retirement, Horsecapture’s longing and melancholy hit Kirk particularly hard. He wasn’t wrong to think he was looking at himself right then. “You’ve been aboard the Enterprise before?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes. When I was much, much younger, I served under Bob April.” Horsecapture gave the console a good pat. “You never forget your first love. Miss Enterprise was mine.”

The old captain’s words were a dagger grinding into Kirk’s guts. If he didn’t get his shit together, he’d spend his final moments slobbering all over himself in a nursing home, with only the framed photo of a starship to see him off into the ether.

  
  
  
“He’s not here, Commander Spock.” Lt. Chavez thought bullshitting his commanding officer might just get his pansy-ass violinist in a little hot water with the big boss. It would serve the magnificent creep right. “I sent him out on a delivery run ninety-minutes ago, and he has yet to return. He’s probably off schtupping his girlfriend.”

Not amused, pissed off, didn’t give a shit, who the fuck knew what these green-blooded odd-balls were thinking? Chavez wouldn’t venture to guess what Spock’s placid facial expression meant.

“Lt. Commander Tralnor is doing no such thing.” Spock said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Commander. Dr. Tralnor is a wiley one.” Chavez nearly laughed. Of course, these people were going to stick up for one another.

“He is right behind you, still wearing a hazmat suit, and stepping out of the decontamination chamber.”

Chavez gave a cursory look and a shrug. _Damn that prettyboy Vulcan anyway_. “So he is! I must not have seen him come back before he started on his next job. Now that we’ve found him, I’ll hand him over to you.”

  
  
  
Even Spock was leery of the chemical compounds Sha’leyen had laid out. “How is it that you are in possession of these items?”

“Nine years ago, I was deliberately sought out by Zakhira Tay. She gave them to me because she hoped that I could somehow exploit their abhorrent natures to do some good.” She stared at the vials. “I think I can synthesize the limein. It probably can help us defend against the tavalik duv-tor, possibly the Vohr as well.”

The first officer knew she was right but didn’t like it. These drugs were what nightmares were made from. Spock hadn’t known such substances, like the tavalik duv-tor, still existed in his lifetime. “Tralnor, do you agree with Sha’leyen?”

Tralnor’s eyes were closed, his breathing labored. Inches away from enough ketro’nistin to kill him sixty times over, he struggled against the fight or flight imprint from the collective historical trauma of the mair-rigolauya. He didn’t respond to Spock’s question.

“Sha’leyen, lock those up so we do not have to look at them.” For the first time in all their years of knowing one another, Spock saw Tralnor genuinely taken off-guard. He’d long envied the younger man’s smooth affect, less brittle emotional controls, and ability to incorporate the raving illogic of human behavior into what it meant to be alive. Here, he got to view a ramification of being seen as a repository for pain and death and knew there was little to covet.

  
  
  
“Looks like he’s made us, Captain.” Doc Hoskins snorted.

“Good. He’ll be awake enough to start answering some questions.” Laura put her hands on Hoskins’ shoulders and moved him back. Some people had no concept of personal space. If he weren’t such a fantastic field surgeon, she’d have chucked his ass off her boat ages ago.

“But what of our fun?” Doc Hoskins eyed the screen, longing for the touch of an unwilling other. He ran his lizard-like tongue between his lips.

“I’ll let you know when you can have your turn.” She shoved him again, so there was room to skirt around him. “Go back to your lab, or wherever you get up to your mad science, and leave me the hell alone.”

“Yes, Captain, of course.” He gave an exaggerated bow then scarpered off.

She went to the prisoner’s door and braced herself for the inevitable stench of an adult male Vulcan. It was hard to explain to people who’d never suffered the odor before, and she wished she didn’t know what it was. Stepping into the room, she coughed and reactively covered her nose.

“I’ve been told that your name is Veddah.”

Shackled and chained, as naked as his compatriots, he’d hunkered down into the fetal position to save body heat. The cold metal of the walls and floors didn’t do him any favors. His face remained neutral.

“Here’s the deal.” She stood over him, sorely tempted to get in a good swift kick just because. “You furnish me with the information I need, I’ll think about getting you some bedding.”

No response. She wasn’t expecting any, not this early into his captivity.

“Stay on my good side, and you’ll be treated okay. Land on my shit-list, and I’ll let Hoskins at you. Fair warning, he doesn’t believe in lube, and he’s hung like a bull elephant. I will hold you down for him.”

Still nothing.

Laura bent over and deliberately grasped his left forearm. He made an uncomfortable sound and tried to backpedal while she brought mental images of Hoskins and some of his other unenthusiastic lovers to mind. He looked like he might be sick at the prospect of forced sex.

She let him go and stood. From that contact, she’d gained a few insights of her own. “You poor, sweet thing, Veddah. As of last night, I was sure you were fucking that helmsman, Loretta. She’s very concerned about your well-being.”

He finally glanced up at the mention of his crewmate.

“You want to remain a virgin for your bride. _How stupidly quaint of you_.” Hands on her hips, she said, “Just make sure you stay useful to me. I’ll think about getting you some warm bedding and make sure you don’t wind up with a busted asshole. Is that agreeable to you?”

He leaned his face against his knees and shuddered.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She squatted and grabbed his hair, yanking his head up where they looked one another in the eye. “You are going to help me find something, Veddah. It’s very old and very dangerous, the sort of antiquity that even makes me glad that your insipid people embraced logic.

“According to one of my spies on T’Pau’s staff—look at that, got a reaction out of you there—she is on the frantic hunt for this.”

Laura snaked her other hand into the waistband of her pants where she’d tucked her data padd. She pulled up the photo of a handwritten letter and showed it to her new friend.

  
  
  
After he left Scotty and the tug captains to figure out the intricacies of getting Enterprise to port, Kirk wandered the halls under the guise of keeping his face known below decks. What he was really doing was trying to come to terms with the constant desperate loneliness that wracked his life. He had two loves: his ship and Spock, neither of which were in a place to recompense his emotion.

“There you are, Jim. I’ve been looking for you.” Bones swooped in like a carrion bird come to pick him over.

“Not now, Bones.” _I just don’t have it in me to choke down another one of your pep talks_. “We’ve got twelve days until we’re done being dragged into Overton Holdings. Pick one and try to build me up then.”

“Damnit, Jim. You’re coming with me, CMO’s orders.”

Kirk was less than entertained by the doctor’s interfering ways. “Fine, let’s go do whatever it is you need to do.”

“Try not to be so damned happy.”

They didn’t go to the sick bay as Kirk thought, rather they steered into a quiet conference room off the beaten path. “Okay, Bones, you’ve got me.”

The captain was regaled with McCoy’s confrontation with Dr. Tralnor last night. _Tell him or don’t._

_It’s cruel_.

 _Cruel_.

“You have got to tell him, Jim.”

 _You’re holding back on something, Bones. What aren’t you telling me_?

“Out of the question.” _I can read your face, doctor. He said something else to you._

“Why can’t you just be reasonable about this?”

  
  
  
_It goes both ways, Jim_! McCoy wanted to scream these words at his friend. _He loves you, and you love him_!

But there was something about the gravitas in which Dr. Tralnor gave that revelation that made the ship’s physician hesitate in divulging such news. Dr. Tralnor was right, he thought Vulcan culture was built on a pile of hypocritical horseshit, earning all the derision this one human doctor could throw at it.

_Basic decorum for a virtuous man._

Spock and Jim had to figure this out on their own.

“Jim, please. You can’t give up.”


	24. Chapter 24

Kirk could not have concentrated on a chess match if his life depended on it. His brain was out to pasture, and he’d known of hyperactive children who paid attention better than he did right then. The fourth time Spock pointed out that it was his move, Kirk decided to call the game. “I’d still like to spend some time with you while we’re not on the clock, Spock. Do you have any suggestions?”

“We could join Tralnor for ralash-t’mu-yor.” Spock tucked the game pieces away, so they didn’t become flying projectiles the next time the ship stopped dead. “I have standing plans to meet him there.”

“So why not show up early?” Kirk feigned a grin and tried to show some enthusiasm that his dearest friend actually had other friends.

“You might find the activity planned for later tonight interesting. Tralnor and some of his colleagues from earth are recording the first part of a behind-the-scenes commentary for a film that they are in the process of restoring.”

“Is there any particular reason you need to be there? I’ve never gotten the idea that you’re into movies, at all.” He didn’t want to come off sounding jealous, but when he heard himself, the edge in his voice was not considerate.

Brows raised a fraction, Spock said, “You will find it worth your time.”

  
  
  
Officer’s mess was not crowded when Kirk strode in. People were more interested in jockeying for spots next door. He was ready to internally grumble about being desperate for novel entertainment when he observed what was on the menu. Those folks must have seen the offerings and fled. “Meat” loaf, which was bell peppers, more bell peppers, stale bread, chopped onions, tomato sauce, and some brown spongy material that may or may not have been technically alive at some point, was the shining star compared to the vegetarian concoction du jour. That might have been a “casserole” of bell peppers, more bell peppers, broccoli, and some kind of groats swimming in a tomato sauce, but Kirk couldn’t tell and wasn’t willing to try any to find out.

“Clearing out the cupboards, are we?” Bones was shoving his plate away as the captain approached. He poked at his dinner. “I understand wanting to get through the stores before they go bad, but sometimes things are bad to begin with.”

“Not good?” Kirk sat and used the side of his fork to cut a bite-sized chunk off the mystery loaf.

“You don’t know the half of it, Jim. Two bites and I’m going to spend the rest of the night with the kind of acid reflux that sears the hairs out of your nostrils.”

“May I join you?”

Kirk didn’t have a reason to turn Dr. Tralnor away and indicated to one of the empty chairs. “Help yourself.”

The Vulcan had a steaming cup of coffee in his _Instant Humanoid_ mug and four wedges of toasted bread with peanut butter and jam. Kirk immediately wanted what Tralnor was having.

 _How screwed up is my life that I’m envious of another man’s toast_? Kirk brought a forkful toward his face and couldn’t open his mouth.

  
  
  
Tralnor stabilized the video connection, and the image of a man on an overstuffed sofa set in a school gymnasium came into clear focus. There were seventeen minutes to go before this session officially began. “Buster, wave for the camera.”

The man on the sofa waved noncommittally. He was a bit peaked. “Hey, Tralnor. How’s Starfleet life treating you?”

“I’m doing well.” He said, when a cutaway in the lower right corner of the screen showed another man. “Are you settled, Joe?”

This time, Bergman laughed before telling any of his stupid jokes. “You’re gonna love this. So this guy walks into a bar—”

“ _Ouch_!” Tralnor and Buster shouted.

“God, you guys are assholes. You’re trumpets, so fuck you anyway.” Joe hooted.

Buster chuckled. “This is going to be a good show.”

“Is that Sohja?” Joe sat up and smoothed down his shirt.

“False alarm.” Tralnor said as he rechecked his cues and made sure all excerpts were ready to play at the touch of a button. “It’s my sister.”

A din of low conversation went up behind Tralnor as people got a good look at Mollie. She was dressed in what he thought of as Temple Kotekru Kaylara business attire, light blue wide-legged pants, a sleeveless, olive green/grey wrap-around top, and an eggplant purple part-robe, part-jacket, that displayed the classic three-symbol Golic script as well as a horizontal stripe of Clan MacCormack’s tartan that ran across the front of the left shoulder.

Joe yelled from his living room in the Hollywood Hills, “Same shoes!”

Mollie stuck her tongue out at the camera, unclipped her diplomatic ID card from her chest and tucked it into a hidden pocket. “I’m sorry I’m running late. I had to hitch with a delegation of aides and admins when the doofuses running the security checkpoint at LAX worked themselves into a lather about my passport. I suddenly felt like I was twenty again, and not in a good way.”

Buster shook his head. “I thought that shit got figured out years ago when you were made some sort of auxiliary staff to the ambassador and got your diplomatic passport.”

“Doesn’t make much difference when everyone at the screening line thinks you’re trying to travel on fake ID. Who fakes a Vulcan passport, let alone one with a diplomatic brand on it? And you love my shoes, Joe.” Mollie sat next to Buster. “I got a call from Arnold’s wife saying he won’t make it today.”

“Did he try to accidentally drown himself again?” Buster asked.

“Don’t know. She didn’t say.” Mollie snickered.

“Arnold’s wife is a saint for putting up with him. Smart guy, but he’s a dingbat.” Buster started to speak when the gym’s door opened again.

“That’s Sohja.” Joe crooned. “And she’s gonna come sauntering in here, dressed to the nines in one of those 1940s suits, peep toes, perfect makeup, pouty lips, not a black hair on her head out of place, and if she’s wearing those seamed stockings, I might just lose my shit.”

Where Mollie’s two-decade-old, multiply-reshod Vulcan city shoes made a thump when the heels came down on the wooden floor, Sohja’s pumps put out a clock-clock-clock sound.

Once in view, where people could see her and compare Sohja with Mollie, the atmosphere of curiosity made Tralnor’s head buzz. Sohja stopped long enough to make a slight adjustment to a stocking and gave the universe a quick glimpse of a garter clip.

“Sohja, Baby!” Joe’s desperate enthusiasm for her knew no bounds.

Sohja stood, looked at the camera, and said, “I am not your baby.”

“Come on, Soazh. Be nice, just this once.”

“My name is Sohja.” She took the other end of the sofa.

No one in Rec Room 2 seemed to know quite what to think. Mollie, laughing at the ongoing exchange, was human and dressed like a Vulcan. Statuesque, Sohja was Vulcan and dressed like a bombshell. Tralnor found nothing odd about this only because he’d known them both for so long.

“You know how to make my heart sing.” Joe held his hands over his sternum and smiled.

“Fuck off, Joe.” Sohja’s tone and expression remained neutral.

“Goddamn, Sohja, _I love it when you’re angry_!” The producer hollered from California.

“Fuck off, Joe.” Mollie repeated. “Go be a jackass somewhere that’s not around us.”

“Yeah, fuck off, Joe.” Buster said.

“Majority rules.” Tralnor hadn’t much wanted Joe in on the commentaries because he was not known for his decorum. “Fuck off, Joe.”

  
  
  


“She’s just going to say something vicious.” Mollie referred to Sohja. “And this whole project was her idea in the first place.”

As the on-screen banter went on in the lead up to the cameras recording for posterity, McCoy was fiercely drawn to this wicked-looking woman. Something fired in his brain, and he was thrown back into what it felt like as a teenager discovering sex for the first time. It didn’t take him long at all to understand why this Joe character was so hung up on her.

“Bones, stop drooling.”

“Huh?” _She is stunning_! The doctor knew what he’d dream about tonight.

“Dr. McCoy, I doubt you would survive a single night in Sohja’s bed.” Leave it to Spock to be a party pooper.

“What makes you say a thing like that?” _It can’t be jealousy, not if you’re nailing a gorgeous gal like Mollie_ , the doctor mused.

“Because I barely did.”

Jim choked and started on a coughing jag while McCoy felt his eyes involuntarily bulge at that revelation.

“Excuse me, _what_?”

“You heard correctly.”

“No shit?” Jim gasped. “You and her?”

  
  
  
Laura let Veddah have a full day to shiver alone and contemplate her offer, well, not offer, but demand from yesterday. When she went in this time, he looked at her knees rather than gazing off into nothingness. That was an improvement already.

“Two months and eleven days.” She said as Silvio brought in a chair and clamped it into the sliding tracks on the floor. This room used to be a bean-counter’s office. Now it was explicitly reserved for valuable prisoners. Silvio asked if she needed anything else. When she said no, he entered deeper into the room to spit on the manacled creature.

Veddah hugged his knees tighter to his chest, the wad of snot and saliva oozed down his arm.

“Two months and eleven days, Veddah.” Laura repeated. “From now, what is the significance of that date?”

His eyes drifted away from her and back into wherever.

“How do I know? Is that what you’re wondering?” Laura’s data padd was out again. She showed him another photo and let the image of a young woman hang in front of his face. “I’ve got eyes and ears all over the place, my dear.”

She pulled the hand-held machine back. “Let’s see, your T’Danna is from a backwater town at the base of the Llangalon Mountains. Her parents are physicians. She’s currently in school to become a physiotherapist. She lives alone in a flat near the campus of Regnar Health Sciences University and has a steady, predictable routine. I’d hate if something happened to your fiancee because you’re not cooperating with me.”

Laura looked at the picture and didn’t see the attraction and tried for the infinitesimal time to comprehend why so many human men fetishized Vulcan women. “Two months and eleven days?”

He took a breath, making like he was going to speak, only to sigh heavily and pitch to his left. If he were human, he’d have been a sobbing mess. He tried to retreat into himself, but Laura wasn’t about to allow that. She scooted her chair in closer and leaned over. “Open your eyes and look at me, Veddah. _Look. At. Me_.”

An open-handed slap brought him back to her. “That’s my boy. That’s better.”

He recovered enough to sit upright again. She asked him about the date, and he finally acquiesced. “I am getting married to T’Danna.”

She liked how he hadn’t added in a “supposed to be” or “should be” to his statement. It showed he had a little spunk in there somewhere. “That very well may be possible, you know. How _intact_ you’ll be for the ceremony is entirely up to how helpful you are.”

His face twitched at the connotation for intact. He was far more committed to her cause today than before. He could come to terms, maybe, with being fucked by someone who’d leave him physically disabled for the rest of his life. Throwing the girlfriend on the bonfire was that perfect little extra. Laura had his full attention now.

“What do you say we start looking at that letter again?”

“That is agreeable.”

“That’s what I hoped you were going to say.”

  
  
  
“Good evening, and welcome to the behind the scenes and making of the film, _Celluloid Vokaya_.” Tralnor was a natural in front of a crowd. “We’re coming to you from two locations. I’m aboard the USS Enterprise, where I’m assigned to the biological sciences section.”

Buster howled at that declaration. “Just wait until everyone hears this. _Biology_. I swear, Tralnor, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were talking out of your—Are we allowed to swear on this thing or is it strictly a Family Show?”

Tralnor gave a short biography, not making mention of why he was on a ship while the rest of them were on a hastily secured “set” on Vulcan. “The other three commentators are convened at the Consolidated Terran School in ShiKahr.”

Mollie introduced herself, briefly discussed how she was born and mostly-raised on Vulcan, without getting into her conception or legal standing. Nor, did she go into detail about her current occupations. She did mention though that she went to USC partially out of family tradition and because she’d wanted to be in California to support a friend.

“I’m Buster Malone, engineer, inventor, and all-around goofball, originally from the colony on Solana IV. I’d never really had friends until I came to USC and joined the band, and if you’d asked me twenty years ago if I’d be doing something like this right here, I’d have said you were nuts.”

“I am Sohja, of the Clan Surak sub-family t’Gef-zehl. I am a Business Ethicist specializing in corporate mergers and acquisitions. I have a strategy for my appearance: It distracts people, and as I almost exclusively work with human men, my appearance keeps them from being too intimidated by the Vulcan in the room. I dropped out of Stanford two-thirds of the way through my first semester because the school was not a good fit. Academically, it is outstanding. Socially, it was not what you might call welcoming to a person of my background.”

“Let’s face it. Los Angeles is an odd place for odd people.” Mollie said.

Tralnor hit a button that opened the camera’s view on his side. “This is our audience made up of the officers and crewmen here on board the Enterprise. They have not seen the film and at this point do not know what it’s about or who’s in it.”

Now that Mollie could see Spock in the background she gave him a short wave and had a look on her face that Tralnor only saw when she was around him. That’s when Tralnor turned around to see who else was there. All of his roommates were accounted for, sitting in a row. Even Seltun was with them. Sha’leyen was with a cluster of her bioarch staff. Nurse Chapel was in a corner, generally uncomfortable with the scene. And, the Grand Troika was in the same place they’d occupied previously.

McCoy, in heady lust with Sohja, wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on. He just stared at the screen. Kirk was trying to go with the flow, but his eyes were fixed on Mollie and his mind trying to answer the intricacies that made her so captivating to his first officer.

(Well, Spock, you’ve got a choice.) Tralnor returned to face the screen.

(Which I have made, Tralnor.)


	25. Chapter 25

“The idea for _Celluloid Vokaya_ came to me when I was taking a film class that I still argue I did not need to take.” Sohja spoke of the genesis of the project.

“You know why you were in that class, Sohja. And it’s not just because Tralnor was the TA and you like the way his ass looks in a pair of jeans.” Mollie shook her head. “Core Classes are part of a liberal arts-style education.”

Buster smacked his forehead with his palm. “Seriously? We’re having this discussion, again? Nearly two decades of the same bickering. You’re both right, and you’re both wrong, shut up about it.”

Sohja chose to ignore Buster’s criticism. “I found that of all the films I viewed, I thought the Hollywood Regency era musicals were the least off-putting.”

“ _Hee-hee_.” Buster leaned back to catch Sohja’s attention. “And that, dear audience, is high praise from the creator, co-producer, and co-director of this movie.”

That got a chuckle from the Enterprise. So far, this was going better than Tralnor had any right to believe. He wasn’t worried about the potty mouths on his friends, just that the microcosm he and they were a part of would overwhelm and alienate the good folks with him in Rec Room 2.

“Let’s start with the title.” Mollie prompted.

“The very first motion pictures were shot on film, a plastic strip layered on one side with a chemical emulsion that creates an image when exposed to light. The oldest type of this media was made from a material called celluloid.” Tralnor started. “Vokaya is a common Vulcan word for memory. The alternate meaning, intergenerational transmission of cultural remembrance, is what this film tries to represent.”

“Vokaya are stories, legends, and parables that are not written down. Unlike a lot of species’ oral history traditions, Vokaya pass via mind-to-mind contact.” Sohja added, then left the next bit to Mollie.

“So, this movie is going to be different from a lot of things you’ve seen. There is zero spoken dialogue, and while there are musicals out there that have what would be spoken lines delivered in song, that’s not present here either. I’d say about half of the music was performed and recorded by those of us on the cast and crew while the rest was carefully re-engineered for better sound. Music is the de facto narrator.”

“The story,” Sohja continued, “is fairly simple. _Celluloid Vokaya_ is a retelling of a pre-Reform legend where a queen and king are arranging their daughter’s marriage to ensure their lands and the people they protect are ceded to their child and that she has the support she needs to keep up their good works.”

Mollie took over again. “What Sohja is trying to say is that it’s two interwoven love stories, the parents’ continued love for one another and the daughter’s newfound.”

  
  
  
Trotted out from their cargo container, Laura inspected the rest of her prisoners. They’d done all they could to earn the derision of their night guards. What was the point of breaking out when they’d never get into the ship proper? They’d all been told that tampering with any of Sweetness’ systems meant the bay doors would open and they’d all die from exposure.

“You all need to learn how to behave like your pal, Veddah. Well-mannered and cooperative, he’s a model captive.”

These ones were dumb enough to still show open hostility. Even Horse-laugh, with his violent contusions, was acting surly. Captain Franklin, recovering a bit of grit, tried to stand up for one of his crew.

“You’ve done something to my science officer. He’d never cooperate with the likes of you. I should kick your ass, lady.” His nostrils flared and shoulders tensed up. He was thinking of lunging at her.

“Where was your bravado yesterday? Or is this all a show so these ten fine Starfleet luvvies will come to your defense when you’re looking down a long prison sentence? You’re a coward, Franklin.”

“ _That’s it_.” Franklin launched all two meters of his burly frame at her, hands still bound behind his back.

Laura, having vast experience with dunces like Franklin, reacted swiftly, kneeing him in the gut, then used her finely manicured talons to grab hold of his testicles. _Squeeze and twist_. Too winded to scream, he made a nauseous squeak. A rapid yank overloaded his pain threshold. She shoved the unconscious captain off her and listened as his body slapped against the floor like a side of cold beef.

“Any other takers?” She challenged. They shrank back, no longer staring her down. “We’ll see what you come up with next time now that you know I’m not a helpless little bitch without my Walther.”

She started to leave, then issued the guards an order. Since there was a lot of excess energy and pent-up aggression in this group, they could spend the day running around the cargo bay. Ten hours of that would slow them down.

After washing Franklin’s sweaty crotch off her hand, Laura stopped at the galley to arrange meals for Sweetness’ guests. That bunch in the cargo bay got to feast on the rancid leftovers from the back of the fridge.

“What about the Vulcan, Miss?” The cook, Signe, a sweet but ignorant older woman asked. “I think they only eat vegetables.”

“With the exception of only one that I know of, they can eat whatever the hell they want. They’re just picky motherfuckers is all.” Her mind went to Tralnor, who due to some weird mismatch in his parents’ chromosomes, had a nasty issue where his body didn’t make the enzymes that let his gut digest muscle fibrin.

“So, I give him what? No vegetables then?”

Laura tried not to get irritated. “Just make him up a plate like you would for any of the rest of us, Signe.”

The cook smiled. The captain had called her by name! That would make her happy for the next week to know the person in charge of the entire ship singled her out individually. She hummed as she waddled from station to station, getting the prisoner’s food.

Hot dinner in hand, she was on her way to Veddah’s cell. Silvio intercepted her and sniffed the air.

“Signe’s as dumb as a sack of wet hair, but damn that woman’s a good cook. This chicken with cream sauce has got to be my favorite.”

“Thank you, Mr. Restaurant Critic. What’s my latest diamond report?”

“Stacked like cordwood, cheek to jowl, in cargo bays one, three, and four.”

That meant if her guys kept at it for another night, should Starfleet show up and Sweetness had to bolt, at least four of her bays would be bursting with precious gems. With such a good update, she smiled as she entered the prisoner’s room.

She took a chance and gave Veddah the plate. “Chicken, steamed green beans, seasoned rice, and one of the cook’s signature homemade rolls. A well-fed crew is a happy crew. Well-fed captives remain useful for longer.”

He regarded the food like all of it was laced with poison.

“You can eat while we talk about T’Pau’s search. Also, if you’re deciding that you’re not going to finish every bite of your delicious dinner, I’ll see if you feel the same when we try feeding you again in five days.” She took her seat. “Look, Veddah, if I wanted you dead, you’d be in that hole dirtside. . . _Use your fingers for fuck’s sake_.”

  
  
  
Spock’s decision meant the audience stayed seated and the overhead lights dimmed. Introductions over, Tralnor gave a warning that the clip first on the list was not in the best repair, but they’d get the point. The screen lit up with the moving image of Sohja, dressed in a contemporary style, walking a modern, yet deserted Paris street, the Tricolor decorating buildings and hanging from standards. After turning down an alleyway, making sure she’d not been followed, she checks against a folded note written on cotton bond, Golic caligraphy of the message contrasting the earth manufacturer’s seal. She approached a plain black door and let herself in.

And stepped through time into a heaving swing club, circa 1944. Her clothes and hair matched her surroundings. The live musicians finished their tune as she made her way down a short set of stairs and onto the slightly sunken dance floor. She’s supposed to meet her potential husband. Before she can study the room and find him, the big band strikes up _Sing, Sing, Sing_.

The princess sees her parents and watches as they get caught up in the choreographed frenzy. Some thirty couples are out on the floor, three of them focused on briefly before the camera moves in on the Ko-tek’ru and Sa-te’kru dancing the lindy hop like its what they were born to do.

Shouts, gasps, applause, the Enterprise audience erupted. Their straight-laced first officer, dressed like an RAF lieutenant, was a damned fine dancer who lifted, spun, and whirled Mollie about the floor.

The camera goes for a series of wide shots then moves in on specific couples again. The picture cuts to Tralnor, playing the princess’ love interest. He catches Sohja’s eye from across the room. They try to meet in the middle of the floor only to be whisked away as partners by other dancers.

By the end of the number, most of those watching in Rec Room 2 bounced their feet or moved their shoulders to the beat, eyes wide when the princess, watching the fun, closes her eyes and opens them to find herself standing in the same room, only its dirty, dilapidated, and cast in shadow, the vitality gone.

The excerpt done, lights up, every face in Rec Room 2 was turned to Spock.

  
  
  
“My disposition toward your people doesn’t come from some misguided understanding or conspiracy theories on Vulcans. My current favorite going around right now is about how your scientists have supposedly figured out a drug, that when injected into humans, turns us into Vulcans. How fucking stupid is that?

“Now, there are a lot of people in this organization who are nothing more than followers. Stuffed shirts say you pointy-eared head-cases are the bogeyman, followers express the same opinion. I am not a follower, Veddah. I lived on your hellhole planet for nearly eight years. I’ve seen the hypocrisy of your civilization in action. I speak the language. I’ve witnessed ceremonies, rituals, and traditions. I’m not some provincial simpleton.”

He hesitantly picked up and took a bite of chicken, and did an admiral job of hiding his disgust.

“I’m going to outline where this object is and what I think that letter is after. When I’m done with my explanations, tell me where I’ve gone wrong. . . And no, I’m not going to punish you for correcting me on this. Every once in a while, your species’ compulsion to be right about everything comes in handy.

“I’d like to begin by saying there is one other person besides Spock who’s in on this hunt. No, that’s wrong. He can’t do something like this without his Reason for Existing. It’s you and me versus Spock and his fellow freaks Tralnor Ah’delevna MacCormack and his sister, Mollie Ah’delevna MacCormack.”

Veddah nodded so Laura knew he’d heard and understood her.

“Two Vulcan-human hybrids and an abomination of science are what we are up against. Sounds like a cakewalk, doesn’t it? Don’t think beating them will be easy. They’re smart, creative, and the Lyr Saan angle makes them entirely unorthodox.

“When Sweetness is done with collecting the current cargo, we’re off to check the first place T’Pau wants them to look. The first is a mining system called Vitell’s Star.”

“Agreed.”

“Number two, Sweetness’ home port, Trego Delta.”

“Agreed.”

“Number three, Pezig’s Gate.”

“Agreed.”

“Number four, I believe I’ve come up with an educated guess. It’s a pity that old bat, T’Pau, thought she had to write this up like some archaic game-night riddle. It was intercepted anyway. Okay, number four, the fourth planet of the Haliday system, the one that’s famous for the ski resorts.”

Disinclined to speak against her opinion, Veddah clammed up.

“Where do you think it is?” This question gave him explicit permission to offer his answer.

“Two light-years away in the Carnelian System.”

“Okay. We might just have to check them both.”

He nodded and went back to his food.

“This is the tough part.” She said. “I’ve read this letter six ways from Sunday. My interpretation? We’re going after something called a watosh-kov. Now, what the fuck is an Ugly Stone? I don’t know, and honestly, it doesn’t really matter that much right now. What we’ve got to focus on is making sure we get our hands on it first.”

Another hard to swallow mouthful of chicken went down. “I thought T’Pau was referring to ek’rasahkos-sudef.”

“Evil Womb?” Laura shrugged. “Works for me. She doesn’t say what this thing is capable of. Any speculation?”

“I—I do not know.”

“That’s fine, Veddah.” She wanted to come off as understanding and save her impatience for later when it would come in more useful. For the immediate time, going slow had to do. “I’m going to give you overnight to think about it some more.”

Laura waited for him to finish eating. She took the plate back to Signe and meandered down to Sweetness’ infirmary. There, she invaded the linens stores. There was no way she’d sacrifice any of her personal bedding for that smelly piece of misery in the VIP cell, and she’d hardly expect her crew to do so either.

Upon her reentry, Veddah saw the sheets and blankets. He’d pined for a modicum of warmth, and probably assumed she’d never provide the promised covers. She knew how to read Vulcan expressions, to see the things few others picked up, observed his hungry longing for what she held, and caught the skepticism telling him she’d only brought the bedding with her to tease him.

“One thing you’re going to find as you work with me, Veddah, is that I follow through. I never make promises I don’t intend to keep.” She came close enough to lean over and make like she was going to stroke his cheek. Veddah braced for the invasion of an unwanted touch that didn’t come. “I can feel from here that your temperature has dropped.”

Hypothermia in Vulcans was devastating. Their capillaries collapsed or burst if they got too cold, and the resulting inability to re-oxygenate their blood made them hypoxic. If she let Veddah continue on like this, there was a real chance he’d wind up brain-damaged or dead. She arranged the blankets around his shoulders and set the sheets in his lap to do with as he pleased.

“Stay warm, Veddah.”


	26. Chapter 26

Tralnor had made it Spock’s call as to the inclusion of the ship’s crew in the audience. The first officer thought it best to get this experience out into the public now before the film was finished and sent out on the festival circuit. Addressing speculation immediately, an action Tralnor frequently deployed, was easier than responding to future rumors.

Mollie had contacted Spock in the early stages of _Celluloid Vokaya’s_ development and asked if he’d be her dance partner. He wouldn’t have to smile or fake emotions the way actors did. He liked the premise of sharing something with humans that allowed them to understand that Vulcans weren’t automatons. He said yes to her because she asked for so little from him. He owed her that much. She’d walked out on the beginnings of a successful secondary education and professional life on Vulcan, moving to California so they could remain close, so he had the support he needed to succeed. And, it was nice to have an excuse to escape the scathing world of Academy life, even for a few days.

He didn’t explain all of that to the denizens of Rec Room 2, but they got that he’d been helping out a friend. Mollie discussed what it was like to learn and rehearse a lot of the material up in San Francisco on the weekends and marry their private studio work into the large and sometimes elaborate full dance sequences.

Beside him, Dr. McCoy remained infatuated. Spock’s warning regarding Sohja was not intended as an insult or to berate the human for finding her attractive. Sex with her was intense, awe-inducing, psionically and physically. It left him with a hangover and a supernova migraine that lasted for days, robbed him of sleep, and singed the fibers within his brain that allowed for meditation. He didn’t recover fully for over a week. Sohja wasn’t thoughtless as to her partners, on the contrary, her satisfaction was tied to how she made the person she’d bedded feel. It was like having a Roman candle explode inside your soul.

Jim scowled heavily each time Mollie spoke, particular fury moving across his brow when she mentioned Spock. This was something the first officer had seen in his observations of human behavior, people exhibiting resentment when their friends/partners had other friends. Jim, it seemed, was jealous of Mollie.

“All of the large-scale stuff, like _Sing, Sing, Sing_ , that was shot over spring break and the days immediately following. The smaller numbers were more piecemeal.” Tralnor said, continuing the conversation on filming locations. “Sohja and I did _Riptide_ at the Santa Monica Pier on a Tuesday afternoon in February. I shot _Rainy Night_ on a hand-held cam while Mollie and Spock cut a rug at San Francisco’s only country and western bar at the time. _Boat Loan_ was shot guerrilla-style, also in San Francisco, the day before we did the big Union Square routines.”

“We really wanted to do some of it on Vulcan, as it’s a story from our history, but with the issues I was having then with clearing customs on the human side of things, we subbed in Death Valley instead. By that point in my collegiate career, I’d been detained on eleven separate occasions, including before a domestic flight from Los Angeles to Chicago. Again, who the hell fakes a Vulcan passport? Anyway, if we wanted to get done with the film in time for submission to the competitions it was entering, I couldn’t get locked up for a week after officials at Nouveau Toulouse decided they weren’t going to let me continue on in transit to catch a connecting flight. I’d been through that twice the previous year. The second time, Ambassador Sarek sent his highest ranking San Francisco aide to retrieve me.”

(Sajak must have loved that, I’m sure. Nothing bends his nose out of shape quite like Mollie.) Tralnor commented.

(The same appears to ring true for Jim Kirk.) Spock wanted to think his captain was above such petty reactions.

Tralnor agreed. (He doesn’t like her, at all.)

(Jim does not know Mollie. A reasonable—)

(He’s having an emotional response, Spock. You and I would come into a situation like this knowing that until we fully comprehended who and what Mollie is to you, that we can’t form an opinion on her. He doesn’t care that there’s missing information and probably doesn’t want to know what it is. His mind is racing ahead and filling in the blanks with what his life experiences guess is the truth instead of solving for _x_.)

(Illogical behavior, but it does make sense in this context.) _I cannot cut Mollie out of my life, Jim_.

“Can we take questions right now, or are we waiting until the very end?” Mollie pointed to an audience member who had his hand up.

“Ask your question, Ensign.” Tralnor directed.

“Um, I don’t know if this has anything to do with the film or not. But, um, Mollie, when you said, ‘our history,’ does that mean you’re one of those people who’s Vulcan because you want to be?”

“If you want to respond, Mollie, go for it. If not, we’ll move on.” Tralnor tapped a command into his console.

“No, I’m not d’Vel’nahr. I am Vulcan because I _don’t_ have a choice.” She looked to her brother then to Spock. Neither of them stopped her from going on.

“Very long story short, fresh from medical school, my mother, Livia, and auntie, Theresa, went to Vulcan to undertake medical residencies. While they were studying Healing, they were recruited as part of the team that brought Spock into the world. The same people made me in the same lab. I was born thirty-seven days after him in the same hospital, delivered by the same doctor. Earth’s laws say that I can’t exist, so I don’t. I was born into the Ah’delevna family, Clan Lyr Saan, and did not officially become a MacCormack until almost five years later.”

Rec Room 2 descended into pin-drop silence. So many human minds began to think of Enterprise’s tangle with the SS Botany Bay, Spock felt the memory in the air. Mollie had heard about the encounter with Khan, and her eyes communicated that she’d accept it if the people he served with thought she was a manifestation of evil.

“I’m not some super-soldier, augmented, experimental monster. . .” She said. “I’m not a clone. I’m not an afterthought. I’m just a pain in the ass to get through customs.”

  
  
  
The way they looked at one another, Kirk thought he might actually get sick. While he wasn’t overtly emotional toward her, Spock’s comfort and familiarity with Mollie shone in how well the first officer interacted with her. Up until this point, she was academic articles, photos, and accolades as seen on the computer, more nebulous, less a real person than a caricature.

Watching that dance scene, the way they moved together, it was beyond well-practiced. They were like a single entity, so deeply intertwined that neither had to think about the moves they made. And Spock, Kirk knew just what to look for, how to crack the code to see what happened behind the stone facade, was having fun.

“I wanted to show you some still photos.”

Kirk sort-of heard Dr. Tralnor talk about photography, but there was no explanation needed for the images projected on the screen. College kids having a blast. Sohja establishing a shot. Tralnor and some girl. A group of about sixty doing a dance called The Hustle. Spock and Mollie.

He burned the image into his mind. Bodies facing in, heads turned to look at the camera, she held his hand on her shoulder. More photos passed in a blur. Then, his Spock, holding that woman tight against him. It didn’t take a genius to see that it was far more than friendship between them. Bile rose in the captain’s throat.

Kirk didn’t know why, but he’d always imagined, probably because his friend led such a solitary existence aboard the Enterprise, that Spock was virginal. Now it was apparent he’d been fucking Mollie for years, far longer than the captain guessed possible. His Vulcan wasn’t so innocent after all, and that bothered him.

People around him laughed at a joke, but it felt like they were laughing at him for being a chump. Giggling and snorting at their captain because he was a fucking moron, yowling that the legendary pussy-hound had finally found the one being in the universe who didn’t want him. They laughed.

Was that a prom photo? He’d taken Mollie to the fucking prom!

“. . . from our childhoods as part of the backstory for the characters we’re playing. . .”

There they were again, small children dressed in formal robes as they stood in front of a roaring fireplace at some Scottish castle.

_Mollie MacCormack_ , Kirk thought. _Stay the hell away from me._

  
  
  
Tralnor set things up so _Celluloid Vokaya’s_ behind the scenes bits were completed in a series of two-hour sessions over the six months he’d be on Enterprise. Buster, Mollie, and Sohja wished everyone a good night. The crowd started to file away, with Captain Kirk being one of the first people out the door.

(Tralnor, Jim is quite upset.)

(Go after him. Try to explain Mollie. Don’t be surprised if he screams and yells and sounds like he’s going mad. Let him work it out of his system, then try again. Inure him to her. He doesn’t ever have to like her. He’s just got to accept that she’s there.)

(And if he throws me out of his quarters again?)

(Go back and keep explaining. Refuse to let him turn you away.) Tralnor stopped collecting the papers he’d spread around and faced Spock. (Sometimes, the only way to approach a person who’s reacting this way is to keep prodding at them. It's like keeping a wound open, so it doesn’t fester.)

(I do not think I fully comprehend this advice.)

(You don’t have to, Spock. While you’re talking about Mollie, mix that in with how much you value Jim’s friendship, until he sort-of gets that he’s not being replaced or ignored.)

  
  
  
“Hello, Spock.” Jim didn’t look happy to see him.

“Captain, we need to have a discussion. May I come in?” Spock, not one who easily read people’s auras, could not avoid Jim’s, and it reminded him of the scent of burning plastic. Something toxic was brewing in Kirk’s head.

There was no offer of a drink this time. Neither of them sat. “Let’s get this over with, Spock. Say what you’ve got to say.”

“You are one of my closest friends, Jim.” Spock began. “There is nothing and no one that can change such immutable fact.”

The captain flinched at the use of his nickname. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Words, why did this have to take place through words? Touching Jim would. . . “When you are not near, I find that I look for you. I find that I am in need of you.”

Sardonic anger welled in the captain’s face. “How many times have you said to me that Vulcans don’t lie? You need me? Now, that’s a fucking farce.”

“You are jealous of Mollie.”

A thin, bitter laugh issued from Jim’s throat. “I’ve never known you to be hilarious. You think I’m jealous of your girlfriend?”

“Jim, Mollie is not my girlfriend.” Spock tried to remind himself that he was responding to nonsensical thinking. “She is simply a friend.”

“Oh right, just a friend? Just a friend my ass.” Jim’s eyes darted around, and he ran his fingers through the hair on the sides of his head. “You’re sleeping with her!”

“Which has no bearing on our friendship, Jim.” Spock wondered if Jim had some fantastic new lover as McCoy described, why he was so angry about Mollie?

“It means everything, Spock.”

“I do not follow.”

“Of course you don’t. You choke off your human side, leaving it to wither and die, so you remove yourself from participating in life. Except when you’re dancing, dating, and fucking a human woman. I’m the one who’s not following.”

Spock’s head was spinning as he tried to keep up with Jim’s unfounded claims. “If your sexual conquests do not interfere with our friendship, why should mine?”

“Spock, you’re not supposed to have sexual conquests.” He said, voice lightening with something Spock could not identify. “You’re supposed to be untouched. You’re Vulcan.”

“I do not understand your disappointment that I am not a virgin. I was sixteen the first time I had intercourse. I have always been under the impression that human males take pity on other males who have never had sex.” He paused, trying to group his thoughts and make some kind of map as to where this strange conversation was headed. “Vulcans have sex, Jim. We are just not as blatant about it as humans are.”

“Let me guess.” Jim’s eyes had a mean gleam to them. “The amazing Mollie MacCormack was your first? You don’t have to answer that. I know she’s the one.”

“Samantha Harrold was yours.” Spock said, recalling a conversation years ago when a maudlin Kirk started describing his many bed partners and how unfulfilled they left him. “You were at the local lover’s lane after the homecoming dance your junior year of high school.”

Jim took two steps forward and stared hard at Spock. Distracted by the fiery tumult in Kirk’s eyes, Spock found himself shoved up against a bulkhead, devoured by a mouth he’d long wanted to kiss, one of the human’s hands pushing down the front of his uniform trousers.

_I’ll show you sex, sex like you’ve never had, sex like you can’t have with that whore. When we’re done, I promise you won’t ever want to fuck her again_. Jim’s enraged thoughts and emotions cut Spock down in seconds. Any notion that this craziness might lead into a breaking down of walls and a declaration of love was long gone. This maniacal jealousy manifested in such a fashion, that the man Spock knew, the man he loved, was locked away beneath a mountain of pain and razor wire. This wasn't really Jim Kirk.

“Jim, stop.” Spock uttered, his nervous system overwhelmed, unable to process the onslaught.

“You’ll want this.” Kirk ground his erection into Spock’s thigh.

“I do not.” Spock got his hands on Jim’s shoulders and pushed him off. The captain landed on his rear and let out another eerie laugh.

  
  
  
Kirk, asleep in an isolated biobed, would remain that way until the neurochemical balance in his brain returned to normal. Dr. McCoy would have to keep him on mild psych meds for a while to swing him out of the stress and depression induced cloud he’d been living in.

“How is Spock?” The doctor asked as Sha’leyen approached.

“He’ll be fine.” She said. “He is very understanding about the captain’s current condition.”

“You know, if you ever feel like you need to change career paths, I could use you on my staff, if only to handle my cranky Vulcan patients.” McCoy said.

“Call me when you need me, Dr. McCoy. Otherwise, you can find me in bioarch.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Captain, Dr. McCoy says you are doing very well.”

Kirk looked away, the shame burning within leaving him nauseous. He’d been under Bones’ direct care for nearly two days and had turned Spock away several times. This time, his first officer didn’t ask, didn’t announce himself, he just showed up.

“I don’t know what to say or what to do to make things better between us, Spock.”

“You do not need to do anything except focus on regaining your health.” And by all outward appearances, what Spock said was true.

 _I’msorrysosofuckingsorry_. Kirk couldn’t bring himself to look at Spock. While it was true that he’d felt like he was along for the ride two nights ago, watching himself act repugnantly toward his best friend, that wasn’t an excuse for his terrible behavior. “I’m a jealous asshole, Spock. What I said, what I did, was entirely out of line. I suppose all I can do is apologize and pray that you can, in time, forgive me.”

Spock didn’t say anything for a moment. “All is forgiven, Jim.”

Kirk closed his eyes and savored those words he didn’t think he deserved. _He called me Jim_!

  
  
  
Franklin was still pissing blood, but he’d settled down, choosing to do as he was told and actively keeping his people under control. Even Horse-laugh was mellowing. Under Liam’s watch, they went around Sweetness, linked together like a chain gang, where they scrubbed and polished every surface and miserly crevasse in-between.

Glad to have that duty delegated away, Laura inspected her diamonds. When all the cargo holds met her requirements, she ordered Morgana to lay in a course to Trego Delta with a layover at Vittel’s Star along the way. She left the bridge to Silvio, who was happy as a pig in shit to have the center seat. It was time to go home for a few days.

She was on her way to pick Veddah’s brain when she caught Hoskins trying to enter the Vulcan’s cell. The doctor punched in another code and swore when the door didn’t abide by his order and open.

“I didn’t ask for you to meet me here.” Laura’s voice made him freeze.

“I—I thought—” Hoskins started to stutter and turned around. The grotesque bulge at his crotch said all she needed to know.

“And you wonder why I can’t trust you with the keys to the store? Go make someone else’s life miserable with that thing.”

“But I don’t want one of the other captives.” He gave himself a vigorous rub. “I want this one. You said I could.”

“When I’m through with him, that’s the agreement.” How many times had she said this now? Hoskins was like dealing with a needy toddler. “It’s going to be a while.”

“Oh, all right.” Hoskins huffed and rolled his eyes. “I can see you’re fond of this one.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not supposed to be.” He shook his left leg in an attempt to get his gargantuan member to settle in a half-comfortable manner. “If this is how it’s going to be, you and I need to make a bit of a trade.”

“I’m listening, but that doesn’t mean I’ll bite.” Whatever it was, she hoped it didn’t involve having to look at Hoskins’ massive dick.

“I want a show.” Lizard tongue flicked at the air. “And I want you to lay down the scratch so I can get laid at Miss Barclay’s when we get home.”

“ _And_?” She said, waiting for whatever rider he wanted to tack on at the end because there would be something. She started calculating the outrageous expense for the brothel. Miss Barclay wanted any fees up front, mostly as a damage deposit.

“Tell Miss Barclay to make sure he’s _young_.” Hoskins smiled.

“Fine. But if I catch you sniffing around here again with that beast locked and loaded, I’ll cut it off and feed it to you.”

“I want my show before we hit Trego, or I might just have to bust this door down.” He turned to face away and squeezed past her. “Actually, if you do that much now, I won’t even think about touching your precious Vulcan.”

“It’s a deal.”

“I’m looking forward to your next call, Captain.”

  
  
  
Mollie spent her day digging through media archives, looking for any and all mentions of Laura Hillyard. What was such a big deal that she’d come out of the shadows and revealed herself to Spock of all people? Getting nowhere, having seen at least three-hundred accounts of Arik Collier’s brutal stabbing and Laura’s subsequent disappearance, Mollie needed a break from seeing that vile woman’s face.

She ascended to the mezzanine level of the Diplomatic Corps building. She’d given thought to crossing over the enclosed footbridge to the next structure in the government complex but decided to get a small meal here instead.

Quiet and sunny, the food court was a welcome change from the blathering of newscasters over headphones and reading articles in dim light. As she took her tray to find a place to sit, she got some odd looks from a table of humans wearing visitor badges. A couple of them even made faces at her in an attempt to get a reaction. She found it hard to crack a smile around strangers and kept her face passive, much to their disappointment.

She was maybe three bites into a stir-fry that needed more seasoning when someone approached and asked if he could take a seat. While she didn’t recognize the individual, she knew what his uniform meant.

“Dr. MacCormack, I am Sovis.” Young, lithe, rich-voiced, he came off as a standard-issue Golic Vulcan.

“Call me Mollie.” She said. “What can I do for a member of T’Pau’s staff?”

Sovis’ gaze lingered a bit too long on the Golic script displayed on her clothes. He tried to hide his reaction to learning she was Lyr Saan, but she caught it, and he knew it. He lowered his eyes.

“Etek nam-to hi e’shuaiar sha’ferikan.” Mollie recited Clan Lyr Saan's motto.

“I must apologize, T’Kehr. I meant no offense.”

“None taken.”

Able to look at her again, he went to speak when the human visitors went off in a clamor of raucous laughter. Rankled by the sudden noise, Sovis blinked rapidly, a tell that he was trying not to get irritated. “I was asked to share some sensitive information with you that you are to pass on.”

“ _What is that_!” From the visitors.

“ _Bob, stop being an ass. You’re going to get us into trouble_.”

“ _Ha! This place needs some shaking up. It's like a damned tomb in here_.”

When Mollie had to fight to keep her eyes from crossing at the boisterous interruptions, she asked Sovis if his office was close. They had to go by the visitors to leave.

“Hey, what’s your problem? You’re too good to be one of us? Huh?” A man in the group started in. She ignored him. “I asked you something.”

She thought the gauntlet run when this person grabbed hold of her and yanked her back.

“Look at you, all dressed up like that. What’s wrong with being human, honey? You’re just going to waste here.”

She wrested her arm away, not giving him the satisfaction of a change in her calm expression. She didn’t say anything to him either and started to walk away.

“ _You’re a stone cold bitch_.” Were the last words she was in range to hear.

“Do all humans behave in such a way?” Sovis asked.

“No.” She said. “That bunch is not representative of the species as a whole.”

It was a kilometer-plus walk to Sovis’ office within T’Pau’s administration. Mollie was glad when they were finally at a place where they could shut themselves away.

“T’Pau believes she has a mole amongst her staff and that person is actively operating. She specifically wants you to know that the mole has likely read the letter.”

“ _The mole has read the letter_. That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“She said you will inform the right people and that they need to be careful lest they get caught out.”

Mollie knew better than to ask for clarification. Sovis wouldn’t know what his boss meant. Not that she had to comprehend the meaning to pass the message along. “I know who she’s talking about. I’ll contact them as soon as I can.”

Sovis could not wrest his scrutiny of her Clan. Nor could he level her with the obnoxious crowd from the food court. She represented a puzzle he thought he might not figure out.

  
  
  
Reversal hypospray administered, Veddah started waking up from the surprise dose of sedatives Laura pounded into his system. He was fine at first if a little groggy until he realized he’d been removed from his cell. The chain that he’d become accustomed to was gone, replaced by bindings on all four extremities. He looked down at himself, still naked, tied spread-eagle to a bed in an unfamiliar room. He didn’t panic, but such a state was not far off.

“There you are.” Laura said. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to join me.”

He couldn’t see her. He pulled against his bonds and looked for her, finding nothing. She stepped out of her darkened bathroom and into the low light of her quarters. He stopped struggling. She dialed in a dose on a second hypospray and blasted it into his thigh. “This last one is a nasal spray. If you hold still, I won’t have to touch you to give it to you.”

Those two drugs on board, she’d give him ninety-seconds or so for them to start kicking in. She bolted back into her bathroom for a quick change of clothes and left the door open as to keep an eye on Veddah. His breathing got faster, and a fearful moan tinged the room. He had a pretty good idea at this point what was going to happen.

She approached the bed and turned on a table lamp, less so Veddah could see her, more that this gave her a few moments to whisper to him while those watching on the lo-lite camera feeds couldn’t see their faces because of the brightness. She sat on the bed and leaned over so her face was directly in his. He’d started to tremble, especially as he saw more of the light blue lace and voile babydoll nightie she wore.

“I am saving you from Hoskins. If I let him in here, you’ll be wearing a colostomy bag by tonight. I think you’d rather wake up tomorrow deflowered by me than mutilated by him.”

He leaned his head back into the pillows. The first tear broke free and burned a trail along his temple.

“It’s okay to cry, Veddah. In fact, with this crowd watching us, it's better that you do.” She gave him a very slight smile before cupping the side of his face. He startled, a strange revelation overtook him. “I gave you something specifically to numb your psi abilities.”

She crawled over the top of him to lie along his right side. “The other thing I injected you with is to make sure you can perform.”

A little wiry for her tastes, Veddah was a good looking man, Laura could not begrudge him that. Too bad he wasn’t human. She wrapped a hand around his hardening penis, stroking him with caressing fingers rather than the traction an experienced lover might appreciate. She placed a line of kisses from his collarbone to the tip of his ear before pressing her lips to his.

He didn’t seem to understand that he should open his mouth for her. She wouldn’t force him to. “I’m not going to pretend that what I’m doing to you is anything other than what it is. Some sick people create moral bargains with themselves that lets them think that they were granting you a favor or giving you a gift by doing this. That’s not how it works. I am here because I traded places with Hoskins in order to save you from severe and violent physical trauma. I am completely conscious of the fact that I am committing a premeditated crime against you.”

He shrank into the pillows, fear and desperation actively formed the features on his face. “. . .k’la’sa . . .”

“Yes, k’la’sa.” She confirmed.

He attempted to nullify his expression, to simply accept what was happening, but couldn’t override the emotion.

“Your body is going to betray your mind, Veddah.” She snaked her right leg across his thighs and pulled herself into a straddle. “It’s going to find pleasure while your conscious self sees only violation.”

He stopped fighting the tears. She kissed them away as she turned out the lamp. “This isn’t your fault, Veddah. Let your body comfort you, there is no shame in that.”

There was no begging or pleading or physical attempts to shake her off. She repeated, several times, that he should not shoulder the blame for what she was doing. Drugged, restrained, he could not defend himself. She applied a copious amount of lubricant to him then sheathed him deep inside her. He cried out like a broken child.

“It’s not your fault.” She whispered, again and again and again.


	28. Chapter 28

With three days to go before Enterprise finally arrived at Overton Holdings, Captain Kirk was allowed off light-duty and back to work. Bones’ forced downtime had mostly involved he and the doctor sitting in Kirk’s quarters and talking. The CMO wasn’t a full-blown psychiatrist, but beneath the Southern charm, in coexistence with the man’s extraordinary abilities with a scalpel, and medical ingenuity in the field, McCoy was quite adept at mapping out what ailed the human mind.

Kirk was feeling better on the medications. He remembered taking at least one of them before as part of the intensive treatment he’d undergone post-Tarsus IV. Having been so young and so traumatized, his brain’s ability to hold onto a proper chemical equilibrium was permanently damaged. Throughout his Starfleet career, that biochemical offset was minor, something chronic to be worked around and monitored. It manifested as a slight case of obsession that turned out to make him an excellent student, if a little impulsive, mixed in with a bit of melancholy. His condition was so mild, he didn’t think it even had a name. It was never anything that left him unfit for duty. If that was the case, he’d have washed out long before being turned loose in the Federation’s flagship.

Bones made it sound like the years of stress had caught up to Kirk, and he’d entered whatever _mid-life crisis mode_ was. It made his brain flip a switch, and over the course of a few weeks, he’d morphed from the usual Jimmy-the-very-slightly-depressed-space-cowboy to a raving lunatic bastard.

“It’s not something you were even conscious of, Jim.” Bones told him at least three times a day. “Hell, when I threatened to run you through that psych eval after you hit that wall, I should have followed through, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You didn’t have to see how he looked at me, Bones.”

“Spock’s not blaming you for anything.”

“You didn’t see his eyes.”

“Jim—”

“I cut him to the quick. I hurt him. My touch, my thoughts, caused him real, acute pain.”

“Jim—”

“I could have told him that I loved him. Instead, he knows just how much I hate the woman he’s going to marry. . .”

The captain left the mental playback of that conversation behind as he stepped back onto the bridge. He put on his game-face and embraced the ten-foot-tall-and-bullet-proof persona expected of him. One look around was like a homecoming until his gaze came upon the science station.

Black trousers, blue tunic, and a cascade of cranberry-colored hair, Lt. Commander Sha’leyen was in Spock’s place. “Good morning, Captain.”

“To you too, Lt. Commander.” He said as he took his seat and logged in to his station.

“All systems green. Tug captains report the same with an ETA of approximately thirty-four hours to port.” Sha’leyen reported as the ranking officer turning over control to Kirk.

Kirk was reminded that Command wanted paperwork on Sha’leyen and that he was supposed to get her some more time in the center seat. While he was languishing on light-duty, he’d been put on notice that his favorite bioarchaeologist was now slotted to take over as the first officer, not the science officer, aboard the USS Sally Ride, while Enterprise was out of commission. She’d shun the switch to a gold tunic, choosing, like his own first officer, to remain in science blues even as an officer of the line. She hadn’t seemed pleased about her reassignment when he’d broken the news to her yesterday. She’d put him on the spot, making Kirk promise to take her back when the silver lady returned to the stars, refusing to accept the new position and the promotion that came with it otherwise. He made a note to himself to discuss Sha’leyen’s schedule with Spock and tried not to think about how quickly this five years was winding down.

 _Are you here to keep an eye on me, or does Spock just want to avoid me_? Kirk sent the message to the science station.

_Keeping an eye on you, James Kirk. CMO’s orders. Spock’s not avoiding you. Your first officer has only switched places with me for today and tomorrow._

He heard her depress the send button. _That damned doctor sometimes. Thank you for keeping my recent health issues confidential, Sha’leyen_.

 _Of course, Captain. May Ko-te’kru Kaylara keep close watch on you_.

  
  
  
Mollie finished her calls to the departments she taught in at USC, advising them she didn’t know when she’d make it back to earth. Her passport had gotten red-flagged as a fraud in all human jurisdictions’ immigration databases, and no amount of back-and-forth between the Vulcan Embassy and customs was alleviating the issue. There were worse things than being stuck in ShiKahr, waiting to hear if she could leave on the next flight. Six days in Nouveau Toulouse’s holding cells still weighed fresh in her mind.

Her grandmother, T’Lessa, let Mollie stay with her and they’d enjoyed their evenings together. However, during the day, T’Lessa was Lyr Saan’s head representative on the High Council, meaning Mollie had a lot of downtime on her own. The past few days, she’d gone into the city center and trolled libraries and archives, or visited with her Auntie Theresa in her lab at the VSA.

While she was out and about, she’d constantly seen Sovis drifting around, trying to be aloof and out of her line of sight. He wanted something utterly unrelated to his line of work and was gathering up the gumption to ask. If he’d been human, she might have worried about a stalker, but whatever it was with Sovis, she didn’t have to be afraid.

She consulted her list to see if she needed to get in touch with anyone else on a professional level. Satisfied that was taken care of, her mind started to wander toward the USS Enterprise. She tried to think of a time when she’d ever seen Spock so shaken, so taken aback by the human capacity to destroy those they were closest to. She’d spent hours trying to talk him through Jim’s reaction to her. Still, at a complete loss, Spock finally asked, why could more humans not behave like her? She didn’t have an answer.

The door chimes sounded. She didn’t need to consult the viewer to know Sovis was on the other side. 

“T’Pau asked me to fetch you. She desires an audience.” He said.

 _Maybe she can get this whole passport issue resolved_ , Mollie thought as she followed Sovis to the car.

The ride was quiet, Mollie watching the scenery fly by, and Sovis nervously trying to broach some subject with her. About halfway through the journey, he started to speak.

“I have learned a lot about you, Mallia Ah’delevna. For example, you are native-born Lyr Saan rather than adopted or married into the Clan.”

“I am.” She buttressed herself for the same jeers and digs about the Lyr Saan she’d heard her entire life. She’d taken a thousand times more shit about being a dream-stealing, mind-raping, shadow-walking slave than anything beginning to relate to her human DNA. In a cruel twist of irony, as children, when Spock was tortured about being human, Mollie was instead viscously berated about being Lyr Saan. Talk about illogical!

“Your professional accomplishments are outstanding. Your hobbies and extra-curricular interests are fascinating.” Sovis clenched his hands, white-knuckling through the butterflies. “I am, however, drawn specifically to one detail in your biography.”

“What is that?” She didn’t like how he buttered her up. This conversation was headed for some flavor of doom.

“You are not married.”

 _Bollocking shit_ , she thought. _Anything but this_. A quick assessment put Sovis at the right age to start freaking out about being unbonded. On the opposite side of that, she was old enough that being unmarried meant he may assume that she did not have a bondmate either.

“No, I’m not married.”

“Your Clan left you free to choose a love match?”

How did she address this tactfully? “I am pledged to someone, Sovis.”

Incredulous, for a Vulcan, he said. “But, you are not bonded.”

“He’s a very close friend of mine.” She didn’t want to get into names and hoped Sovis left it there.

“This man, he is human?” If she were engaged to a human, he could be let off for some of this embarrassment. “The Lyr Saan have not made the announcement of your betrothal.”

“He’s Vulcan.” _With the idea that he lands his Jim first!_ She thought. _But if I tell you I’m a placeholder, you’ll never leave me alone about this_. “We have chosen to keep the news to ourselves.”

“I—” He’d not wanted to come off a desperate, nor had he expected to be rebuffed. He thought he’d be turned down, but only after the equivalent of a date or two.

“If you’re interested in meeting someone who is Lyr Saan.” She said, throwing him a gracious out. “I have a cousin who is recently divorced. He too works in ShiKahr as part of the High Council staff. He’s a statistician, who in his off-time is a volunteer botanical technician for the Horticulture Society.”

“You would be willing to make the introduction after my grievous indecorum?”

 _What I’d really like to do is find your family and give them a good dressing down for leaving you to solve this on your own for so fucking long. This late in the game, you’ve struck out, they should have found someone for you_ , she thought. “When T’Pau is through with me, we’ll go find Novir.”

  
  
  
Not wanting to risk a conversation overheard by clandestine listening devices, T’Pau insisted on meeting Mollie outdoors in the rooftop gardens at the Commission for Vital Statistics. While the dowager may have had some concern over eavesdropping, Mollie was just as sure she didn’t want to get caught being too friendly with the Lyr Saan, especially the granddaughter of the woman she was at loggerheads with.

The high matriarch of Clan Surak, not administering ritual or tradition, dropped her formal diction. “Have Spock and Tralnor explained what I am having them do?”

“I am privy to very little in that regard. If you set them a task and told them not to speak of it, they are following your directive.” Mollie put on the sunglasses she always carried with her on Vulcan, not caring if T’Pau found it a sign of weakness, but the old woman didn’t seem to have the inclination today to pick on human or Lyr Saan idiosyncrasies.

“Occasionally, I get word of insidious pre-Reform antiquities that are not fit to be seen or handled by anyone outside of a minute circle of experts. I send said experts to retrieve these items, which are then destroyed or locked away.”

Mollie followed so far.

“The most recent antiquity brought to my attention is what Dehline would refer to as an artifact of malice in the truest definition of the term. Now that I am aware of security breaches within my own staff, it is of utmost importance this item is found and immolated before it falls into the wrong hands. The intelligence leak, combined with the reemergence of Laura Hillyard, means Spock and Tralnor’s search must pick up. The AVDL will have heard from their spies that I am looking for something.”

“The AVDL has spies, on Vulcan?” Bewildered, Mollie tried to reconcile that idea to what she knew about the racist group and the hot red planet of her birth.

“They have been active for some time.” T’Pau stared into Mollie. “I shall not speak of those who betray us.”

That Mollie was included under the heading of the word _us_ was an exquisite development in familial relations. The Lyr Saan were typically excluded from such umbrella terms in a cultural sense. Thus, this was a kind of inclusivity never expected from the Golic clans.

“My nephew and your brother need help in this endeavor. In order to explain what they seek, I must enter your thoughts.”

Mollie removed her sunglasses, so T’Pau had access to the proper psi points on her face, and closed her eyes. Unlike her nephew, she absolutely needed physical contact for telepathy. The papery fingertips on her skin initiated an orderly transfer of information. Some things, the old woman explained, others needed no captioning. When T’Pau withdrew, Mollie felt heavy like she’d been weighed down and thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool.

“It’s horrific.” Mollie said.

“Completely annihilatory should it ever return to this place.” T’Pau stood, ready to return to her compromised workplace. “Destroy it before it destroys our world.”

  
  
  
Captain Kuznetsov was as beaten down as any Starfleet officer Kirk had ever seen. Dirt-streaked, hair falling out of its formerly immaculate bun, she was exhausted to the molecules of her soul. Her soft Russian accent was more apparent than before.

“ _Chertovski suka_!” _That fucking bitch_ , Kuznetsov swore. “They were shot with an antique 9mm handgun. The spent rounds are littered about. Rather than disturb more than one or two of the bodies in what is a crime scene, we’ve counted the spent ordinance instead. _Forty bullets_.”

Kirk and the rest of the bridge officers on Enterprise recoiled at the description of the scene. He had Uhura get Sha’leyen in direct contact with Dragon’s security personnel on how to approach a mass grave and what to do if Command could not get a proper forensic bioarchaeology team out to Melbek III in a timely manner. Unfortunately, it was a good thing the Lt. Commander was immediately on-hand.

“That means there are twelve members of Seren’s crew that made it off this planet alive.” Kuznetzov said.

“Begging the Captain’s pardon?” Kirk thought she was being awfully optimistic to think a dozen people were still breathing when the rest were rotting in a hole. “How do we know there’s not another grave or death scene out there? Melbek III is a big planet.”

“AVDL likes to take captives. They demand ransoms, sell them to slavers, kill them as entertainment, keep them as cheap labor. . . Twelve of them left here.” Kuznetzov was adamant and Kirk relented.

“Now we’re looking for a mass murderer, with a ship full-to-bursting with diamonds, who’s holding a dozen Starfleet crew and officers as prisoners.” Kirk assessed the situation aloud.

Kuznetsov sighed. “I will keep you apprised of the details. USS Dragon, out.”


	29. Chapter 29

Captain and crew alike were in a celebratory mood when the tugs finally released the Enterprise, and she moored at Overton’s space-dock. While he didn’t clap, whistle, or shout, Kirk was desperately happy this part of the Laura Hillyard nightmare was over.

“Captain Kirk to Enterprise.” He addressed the whole ship via the PA. “Welcome to Overton Holdings. According to Mr. Scott, our layover here is projected at four-days-six-hours. Therefore a shore leave rota has been put in place. Go and stretch your legs for a bit. When you come back, we’re going hunt MV Sweetness down and turn it into a trophy.”

The bridge crew was elated, well, save for Spock, but he never really took shore leave anyway. As the officers and enlisted who kept the nerve center of the ship going cleared out, Kirk addressed his second-in-command. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a few minutes to spare?”

  
  
  
They opted for the conference room, where they had plenty of furniture between them and didn’t have much chance to accidentally touch.

“I understand if you hate me or never want to interact outside of our jobs again. Just—please don’t transfer and leave me to finish out this five years alone. I need you to be here.” Kirk had hope that the previous lack of animosity on Spock’s behalf was still there.

“I have no intention of putting in for a transfer. Such an action was never my objective.”

“Oh, thank god.” His biggest worry was no more.

Spock dropped the stone facade, as he was wont to do for Kirk sometimes, and said, “I do not, could not hate you, Jim.”

Kirk let himself smile for the first time in days. “You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that.” 

Concern/need showed in Spock’s eyes.

“I know I’ve said it, but I need to say it again. I’m sorry, Spock. I’m sorry I said those things to you. I’m sorry that I manhandled you. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Jim—” The Vulcan was going to tell him to quit with the apologies, but Kirk had to say it, even if it was only for his own selfish needs.

“You know what, Spock?” It stung to get these next words out, but he knew he spoke the truth. “I’m glad you’ve got someone and that she treats you a hell of a lot fucking better than I’m capable of. She’s good for you, she’s good to you, I can see it. You deserve so much better than what I could give.”

“You do not understand Mollie’s place in my life.”

“She’s the one you should have been with all along. Fuck that T’Pring business.” Kirk said. “Honestly, Spock, I’d just be honored if you’d still be my friend.”

“Yes, Jim.” His first officer said. “I am still your friend.”

  
  
  
The commercial transport hub at Proxima Rusalka was an overcrowded madhouse.

“Well, what did he say?” Mollie strained to listen for the final boarding call for her connecting flight. She’d been forced onto a public comm terminal when the battery in her personal unit died, and this was one call she needed to follow through. “He didn’t reject you. . . That’s not a rejection. What _exactly_ did he say?”

“Hey, are you about done? Some of us have important business calls to make. Your sniveling brat can wait until later.” The snooty executive-type directly behind her started in.

“Can you say that again, Spock?” The cheap connection meant the video portion of the call didn’t come through. “The noise in here is maddening.”

“Move your ass, lady.”

“Hold on.” Mollie positioned to face blustering human.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He barked, then got an eyeful of her clothes and a good read on the new ID badge clipped to her chest. She gave him the coldest stare she was capable of.

“Find another phone.” She said.

“Screw you and the Vulcan High Council.” He snorted before tromping away.

“Spock?” She listened as her friend relayed the conversation he’d had with his captain. “No, that’s not it at all. Jim’s trying to say that he hopes you think he’s worthy of even the slightest chance at an intimate relationship.”

A garbled voice didn’t quite penetrate the zoo atmosphere of the terminal, so if that was her final call, Mollie couldn’t tell. At this point, it didn’t particularly matter. With the writ T’Pau had set her up with, Mollie could walk on any commercial flight in the Federation, and no one could stop her. Too bad it was only good for as long as it took to find the tavalik duv-tor.

“I know, humans never quite say what they really mean, and this was far more reading between the lines than you’re used to.” This time, the bleating from above did announce that her liner was leaving. “I’m glad. . . We’ll talk shop tonight.”

Mollie ran for her gate.

  
  
  
Daniel Shelley smirked as he closed out the video on the other screen in his office. Laura thought he might break into applause.

“You are something else, Laura.” He said from his plush hideaway on Trego Delta.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Dan?” She opened a desk drawer and looked for a salty snack.

“You raped a Vulcan and made him cry!” He shook his head. “I’m in awe of you. I’ve watched it half a dozen times today and just can’t get over it.”

“I’d say it's pretty straightforward.” She said. The video of what she’d done to Veddah was going viral in the human supremacist realm.

“ _He’s crying_ —It’s hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious, terrible pun intended.” AVDL’s leader worked his lower jaw and chuckled.

 _If it’s so damned funny, how come I’m not laughing_? She kept the thought to herself.

“I didn’t think they could get all worked up like that. So, tell me, Golden Girl, was that your first time fucking a Vulcan? It was obviously his with anyone, only he was too busy blubbering to appreciate the perfect woman riding him home. _Lucky bastard_.”

“Can we find another subject?”

It took longer than she wanted to get the Big Boss off the comm. He thought he needed all the pervy details about Veddah. Glad to be free of Daniel Shelley, she finished writing her monthly editorial for the AVDL news magazine, then undertook a tour of the ship.

Damned if those Starfleet bums couldn’t make the place shine. Sweetness probably hadn’t left the manufacturer’s yards in such pristine condition. Laura spoke to every one of her crew she came across, inspected equipment, and saw that video replaying on more tiny screens than she could count. Good thing she wasn’t the type who embarrassed easily.

At long last, she let herself into Veddah’s cell. He’d sort-of recovered enough that he stopped breaking down in tears every time he saw her.

“I just came to check in on you.” She proffered a piece of fruit. When he didn’t take it, she skipped her chair and sat next to him on the floor. “I don’t know if you’ve ever had a pomegranate, but they’re pretty good. You don’t eat the skin, just the seeds inside.”

He turned his head so he didn’t have to see her.

She placed the fruit on his lap, careful not to touch him. “How long is it supposed to take for this semen plug of yours to loosen up and fall out of me?”

His breath caught, and he adjusted position where she could view him in profile. More disturbed than Laura thought possible, he said, “You did that to me while in your fertile phase?”

“What?”

“A plug cannot form unless a female is at a specific point in her cycle. It is an enzymatic reaction to the hormones.” Dread carried in his voice. “If you are with my child—”

“ _Absolutely impossible_.” She corrected him. “Even taking the whole different species thing into consideration, I can’t get pregnant. I tried. I tried for fifteen years. I’ve been seen by doctors of every specialty, shot myself full of hormones, donor eggs, donor sperm, embryo transfers, surgeries, fertility drugs of every kind, nothing worked. I can’t get pregnant enough to miscarry. I’ve never even had what they call a chemical pregnancy. I’m as barren as a slab of granite.”

“I see.” He replied, less terrified than before.

“I only asked because it stinks to high heaven and I can’t seem to scrape it out. I used a mirror to look, and I can’t even see my cervix. I don’t think that’s normal.”

“It will dissolve on its own.”

“Is there any way to hurry it along?” The very concept of a Vulcan semen plug was so incredibly disgusting it made her light-headed. Having one adhered to her internal anatomy gave her mental dry-heaves.

“This many days post-coitus, another semen deposit should weaken its hold.” He hid his face again.

“Would it have to be from you?” _Please say I can go fuck Silvio and this thing inside me will go away_.

“I do not know.”

“Veddah?”

He didn’t so much a twitch at the use of his name.

“Keeping promises, that’s why I did this to you. It’s not an excuse. It’s simply an explanation. I told Hoskins he could have you when you were no longer useful to me. He’s impatient to a fault.” The Vulcan likely wasn’t listening. “However, he gets off almost as much by watching as he does maiming people with his ridiculously massive cock. I don’t know if you give a shit at this point, but with what he told me yesterday about Vulcan abdominal structures, if Hoskins didn’t leave you bleeding to death from a perforated bowel, he’d have burst or bruised other vital organs.”

Silence.

“For what it’s worth, Veddah. . .” She lowered her voice to a range where any surveillance would have a hard time picking it up. “There is a scant collection of things I’ve said and done in my life that I do regret. I wish I hadn’t had to hurt you like that.”

  
  
  
It was the middle of the afternoon and Tralnor, free from the tyranny of the media lab, was in Rec Room 2 catching up on dailies. Enterprise was blissfully quiet and depopulated, a short-lived feature he planned to take full advantage of.

 _Celluloid Vokaya_ played on a small screen. Headphones on, he took root at his desk, where he could continue with the nit-picky task of flagging frames for replacement. He made his notes on paper, left questions to himself and Joe/Sohja in the margins, and figured he’d get in a good six-to-eight hours of solid work, not counting breaks for dinner and ralash-t’mu-yor.

He tapped a pen to the beat of the music and let his mind get lost in the task. The empathic part of his brain shook him loose, telling him Spock was near. Tralnor should have figured that man wouldn’t have taken advantage of shore leave either. Satisfied the first officer was merely seeing if there was anything edible in the officers’ mess, Tralnor decided to review his notes until the distraction passed.

Spock wasn’t on his way through the area. He was bringing Tralnor a cup of coffee. _So be it, Tralnor thought, if I’m supposed to spend the day guiding and instructing those around me, then that is what I’ll do. Such is the lot of the T’Kehr t’Kaylara_.

(Thank you, Spock.)

Spock momentarily fixed on the terminal display, a freeze-frame of Sohja and Mollie dancing as though mirror images of one another, then he sat in the closest chair to the desk.

(You know, Spock, we might have to introduce Dr. McCoy to our old friend, Sohja. He’s been pestering me about her.) Tralnor killed the power to the display.

(He has asked me about her as well.)

(She’ll turn his brains into scrambled eggs. I should think once would be enough, then we’ll never have to hear him go on about her again.) Tralnor gratefully sipped the fresh coffee.

(You are the only person I know who has slept with her more than once. You are either foolhardy or impervious to her—) Primitive words could not broach what Sohja was capable of.

Hot mug set back on the desk, Tralnor said, (Definitely the first one. She leaves me weak-kneed and seeing double. . . Damn, it's been a long time.)

(Joe is right, Tralnor. Amelie Grace would not wish to see you alone. Sha’leyen will be a good partner for you.) He pointed at Tralnor’s rings. (She would want you to let go and find new love.)

As he said that, Tralnor felt Spock’s new morass of loss. Walking knee-deep in a lake of molasses, the first officer was trying to chase down Jim Kirk, and if he did catch up to the captain, it was to play a game where Spock didn’t understand the rules, couldn’t anticipate the moves, and left himself open to emotional turmoil.

(Mollie called me not long after she got on the ship from Proxima Rusalka to Nouveau Toulouse. We compared notes on you, Spock, as it were. Now that Jim’s had this colossal fuck-up, you’re going to have work your ass off to convince him that he’s worthy of you. The strategy still stands, you’re the one who’s got to keep running at him.) Tralnor watched the thoughts roll behind Spock’s eyes. (And if he throws you out his door, go back.)

(He has made it clear that he only sees me as a friend, Tralnor.)

(Then Mollie and I are going to help you put together one hell of a sales pitch.)

  
  
  
His cabin-mates and extraneous associated junior officers sounded like a pack of hyenas from where Tralnor perused the “adult” shop’s wares. He heard Billy the Sixth exclaim, “Dr. T said he was staying on-ship to work, not coming down-station to find stuff to work his wrist!”

“You’re all puerile.” Tralnor wanted to start by finding the right lube. By this point, Chris O’Dell had stopped laughing, but only to oggle. Tralnor was in jeans and a USC alumni band t-shirt.

He approached the gaggle of ensigns and lieutenants. “I’m not finding my old favorite. Chris, if you were going to bend me over the sales counter and fuck me right now, which lube would you use?”

Faces paled and the howls quietened. Chris, usually so quick with an innuendo, coughed and stared.

“Come on, lads. Let’s let Doc finish his shopping alone.” Billy the Sixth started to herd the group down the concourse. “We can tease him about it later.”

Chris stayed behind for a second. “What’s yours?”

Tralnor listed the brand name.

“No wonder you can’t find it. They quit making that stuff like five years ago.” Mostly recovered from the shock of Tralnor’s question, Chris scanned the shelves until he came across the bottle he was looking for. “This is really similar, just a little thicker.”

A quick read of the ingredients showed nothing a Vulcan would be allergic to. “I appreciate the recommendation.”

“You know, Dr. Tralnor, I don’t get how you put up with us and keep a straight face. We’re a bunch of assholes.”

“That’s part of your charm.”

Finally left to his own devices, Tralnor put considerable thought into the items he placed in his basket. Spock needed the right things in his nightstand if he could get Jim Kirk to join him in bed.


	30. Chapter 30

_We want, wanted, each other, at least in a sexual sense. How was I to know_? Spock smothered the flame in the asenoi and went to the closet to hang up his robe when the doorbell sounded. Still, in his uniform trousers and Starfleet issue undershirt, he answered the door.

“It’s no wonder shore leave is synonymous with Mardi Gras-level depravity.” Tralnor entered, cardinal colored t-shirt tight across his chest, and a box marked CABBAGE SOUP MIX, tucked under his arm. “Even people who don’t think they’re stir-crazy get goofy when the gangplank goes down.”

“Hence my avoidance of shore leave and the associated activities.”

“Where should I set this?”

Spock was unsure. He’d never needed provisions like this for the kind of sex he was used to having. Mollie favored an unscented d’lechu lotion if they got a little dry, but Tralnor was insisting that wouldn’t be enough.

“On the desk, for now.” Tralnor said as he opened the flaps. “This is what you’ll need for anal intercourse.”

Two bottles of _Super Slipstream! Anal Dream Lube!_ , that’s what the label called it, were placed beside the computer terminal. Next was a multipack condom assortment. What was he getting himself into?

“You’re looking a bit faint.” Tralnor reached into the box again. “Sit.”

He complied and watched with more than a little trepidation as the not-cabbage-soup-mix settled on his desktop.

“I will explain all of this to you.” Tralnor brought another chair to the desk. “These things are so you can have a happy and healthy sex life with Jim.”

“I am—overwhelmed.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got people you can trust to help walk you through it.” He placed the empty box on the floor. “The reason I got you this is because d’lechu lotion stimulates the vaginal walls to provide more lubrication and while that’s great, it’s not the best for what you’ll be doing. Even with d’lechu’s help, the anus can’t produce enough lube to make sex comfortable. Use this liberally, on you and him, and when you think you’ve got enough, use a little more. And these are luer lock syringes to help you get it exactly where it needs to go.”

Spock had a question, one he hesitated to ask because he was sure he’d not like the answer. “Tell me, Tralnor, does pain always have to be a part of this act?”

“ _Pain_? No, no pain.” Tralnor let unease at that question manifest as confusion in his features. “Spock, why would you think that?”

“The way my classmates at the Academy spoke about the receptive partners in male/male couplings makes this sound unpleasant at best. Accidentally overheard conversations and comments about making men ‘squeal like bitches,’ from the pain. My limited consumption of pornography has lead me to the same conclusion as well. One partner tolerates pain and discomfort so the other may have some pleasure.” This was the one thing he’d dreaded addressing should he and Jim have gotten together before now. This was the sexual incompatibility issue that wracked his brain.

“That’s what happens when you get all your information on a subject from locker room talk and porno.” Spock immediately recognized Mollie’s kindness and concern in Tralnor’s eyes, and he took some solace that he did have individuals in his life who genuinely cared and could offer assistance when the going got _embarrassing_. “We’re going to help you learn enough, so your first time with him isn’t painful or frightening.”

“Then I am glad I asked you to do some shopping for me. I would not have known what to get.” Bright colors, tacky packaging, on one small box a woman with humongous fake breasts touted ‘ _The Quadrant’s Best Butt Plugs: Made by Sofftec_!’

“From talking to Mollie, I know you’ve got Refraction Syndrome. So, I understand your worry about going through with this.” Tralnor steered the conversation back toward the previous uncomfortable topic and how to address it, where Spock was ready to breeze by.

“Another defective feature of my weak hybrid body.” _That just might make intimacy with Jim impossible_ , he thought.

“It’s not a defect.” Tralnor insisted, but Spock was not convinced.

“When I broke Mollie’s hymen, it should have been a minor annoyance to her, but when it cast back on me, the pain was _severe_. I did not know what was going on. I thought I had grievously wounded her. She was bleeding. . .” He’d been terrified at the time. “Somehow, she knew what was happening to me. She held me close, soothed me, until the refraction passed, and by then, she was used to me inside her, and we were able to make love. . . I _do not_ want to go through that again.”

Tralnor nodded. “Refraction Syndrome isn’t dooming your sex life before it starts. I’m sure it doesn’t surprise you to know that I’ve got it. Sohja has it too. It’s rare, Lyr Saan physicians believe less than six percent of the total population has it, but it’s not a defect. It’s an evolutionary reproductive strategy that keeps us from maiming or killing our mates during the Fever. It also means we’ve got to be very conscientious of what we’re doing outside of the pon farr. ”

“I assumed it manifested because of my mixed heritage.” When he thought about it, Tralnor’s explanation did make sense. He added this new fact to the gaping hole in his knowledge of sex and relationships. After all, he came from a Clan where such things were hidden away and only spoken of in whispers.

“The best way to avoid a refraction episode is to make sure that you or your partner are well prepared for penetration. I don’t know if, outside the Fever, you’ll be the receptive partner at all?”

He’d not thought of that. It was never much of a topic for discussion with Mollie because until now, he’d been unwilling to try. On a couple of occasions, she’d wanted to use her fingers on him or have him anally penetrate her, but the prospect of refraction pain stopped him. Telepathically linked in sex, what he felt, Mollie felt, and vise versa. He did not want that blowback.

“Let’s say yes, you will. Please, try it at least once in your life.” Tralnor tried to find a decent description. “It’s a _rush_ to have someone inside of you, touching you like that. . .”

“You find it pleasurable?” Spock tried to reconcile what he thought he’d known with what he was learning and still found room for doubt.

“Very much so.” He gave a slight, knowing grin. “And if you’re doing it right, you won’t suffer refraction.”

Spock got a crash course on how to have good sex with a male partner. Dilation, lubrication, fingers, toys, hygiene, positions, communication, relaxation techniques never taught in the Surakian disciplines, proper research methods, don’t hesitate to ask questions, take it slow. Tralnor talked about every item in the box, what it was used for, how it was used correctly.

“And Spock, while this information is priceless, you’ll also need to put in some practice time to get comfortable with yourself.”

“Practice?”

“Masturbation. I know it’s not something Vulcans do much of since we tend to get laid, or not. But, for you right now, it’s all about learning to make this wonderful.” He stood and set the empty box on the seat of his chair. “Remember to have fun.”

  
  
  
Laura was not having fun.

“Oh, Christ! I can feel it.” Silvio withdrew his fingers. “The smell, it’s repugnant. Who knew rancid Vulcan choad reeks like hot garbage?”

“Are you going to fuck me or not? If the answer is no, I’ll have to find someone else.” She wanted to get this over with.

“I can try.” He stroked himself, trying to stay erect. “It's like you’ve got some kind of disease. Are you sure a shot of antibiotics won’t take care of this?”

“I’m sure.” She’d already tried that.

Bent over, so she didn’t have to look at him, Silvio rammed into her.

“Ouch, Goddamnit! Pay attention to what you’re doing. I’m not one of your little fuck dolls.” Three more bone-shaking thrusts and mercifully his cock twitched, and his warmth started to pool inside her. “That hurt.”

“I had to pretend it wasn’t you because I had to come fast. I couldn’t have done it otherwise.” He wiped his dick and started to put his clothes on.

“I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll be up to take us into Vitell’s.” She lay down and tilted her pelvis like she’d done all those times when she’d tried for a baby, keeping Silvio in place and hopefully mucking Veddah out.

  
  
  
Screaming children and pounding on the bulkheads were the first sounds from Mollie’s connection. The cacophony of commercial travel was unmistakable. Even in a sleeper compartment, the masses never relented. “Sorry about that. I’ve got a family of eight on one side and a cranky suit on the other. They don’t seem to realize I’m between them. I might ask the porters if they’ll chuck me down with the freight.”

“That’s what I’d be doing.” Sha’leyen winced as piercing shrieks reverberated into her office. Spock and Tralnor didn’t react physically, but the bioarchaeologist sensed their minds shifting to compensate for the stabbing noise.

“ _Shut the fuck up_!” Suit bellowed.

“Gotta love public transportation.” Mollie said. “The four of us are—”

Knocks on doors interrupted, leaving the three Starfleet officers waiting fifteen minutes for the passenger ship’s security to calm the aggrieved and clear out the troublemakers. When a reasonable calm was established, Mollie came back to the comm.

“T’Pau contacted you directly, and you’re on your way back to earth for what exactly?” Sha’leyen thought the human homeworld was out of the way from the places they needed to search for the tavalik duv-tor.

“I’ve got to talk to an ambassador who can get me in to see the Federation president. She has me running around and doing some pre-emptive rat killing. That way, little things like you three going AWOL, won’t mean that you’re actually going AWOL.”

“And she is not doing this herself so you can start searching at Vitell’s Star?” Sha’leyen felt like she was missing some inside joke. Mollie laughed, and the men regarded one another with eyebrows slightly raised.

“You do not know T’Pau.” Spock said. “She is not the ‘rat killing’ type.”

“Even if she was, AVDL is so far up the Council’s ass that she can’t walk down the hallway without them knowing.” Mollie started taking her hair down, reminding Sha’leyen a lot of how Tralnor looked when they met as teens.

“Its good to have you on our team. We’ve needed someone, not on this ship.” Tralnor showed Mollie a copy of the tavalik duv-tor’s sketch. “Do we all agree that this is what we’re after?”

“Yes.” Mollie nodded.

“Did T’Pau give any information on how to approach it?” Spock needed more than look for box, locate box, destroy box.

“Not really. She said that while I was on earth that I should contact T’Lal and Sarek. And I was going to do that anyway. Until yesterday, I had no idea the crazy shenanigans they got up to. It’s fucking insane. I always wondered why T’Lal had this bizarre side-gig doing some kind of fighter pilot shit, and could not for the life of me make the connection between her tramp freighter days and why the High Council sent her to Miramar when we were kids.” Mollie shrugged in disbelief. “I never knew diplomacy could be so dangerous.”

“They hide it well.” Tralnor commented. “We don’t have to worry about T’Lal or Sarek saying anything about what we’re doing.”

“I will be as discreet as I possibly can.” Mollie let her nervousness twist her features. “When you wanted Tralnor on the Enterprise, this was not what I had in mind for the reason. Also, I know T’Pau dumped me on you with no notice. Let me know if I get in your way.”

“That she has involved you at all speaks of desperate urgency.” Spock said. “A concerning development.”

“This is a good thing. We are Kae’talse. On Belon, four is the number of fortune. We, like some pre-Reform Vulcans, had consecrated squads of four tasked with seeking out the bad that hurt people, almost like detectives. The Kae’talse were revered for their good work.” Sha’leyen, for the first time since she was brought in on this overwhelming task, felt that it wasn’t insurmountable. “It would be said as Kehkuh-talsu t’i’vish, in modern Golic.”

“Kennuk-Talse’te in Old Lyr Saan.” Tralnor said. “Three primaries and, I suppose the best Standard word for it is, a spare. Kennuk teams operated much the same as Kae’talse on Belon.”

“I hope that means we’re lucky.” Mollie said, distinctly uncomfortable at Tralnor’s mention of the Kennuk.


	31. Chapter 31

No sooner was the Enterprise declared fit for duty, she was speeding back to Melbek III. Captain Kirk, disparaged to learn that his ship was the only one in the vicinity with a fully certified forensic bioarchaeology team, argued against returning. He tried to get Admiral Holt to comprehend that his crew had taken an emotional and physical beating out there and that Seren’s dead might be better served by experts who were not coming in with a bias.

The atmosphere aboard was terse. Every time Kirk got an update from Sha’leyen, he wanted to tell Command to what they could go and do with themselves. The bioarchaeologist’s requisition list was extensive. In part, she wanted security, all of the xenoanthropology staff, two geologists, two dendrologists, an entomologist, Dr. McCoy, a full biohazard setup, at least one medical lab tech, and a handful of people to just put labels on things and keep stuff organized. The more he scrolled, the more he wanted to turn around.

He knew a thing or two about mass graves, the unnatural marks they left on the landscape, the overpowering stench that wasn’t so much an odor as a cloying physical barrier that attempted to smother you, sightless eyes seeing nothing and everything, macabre smiles of skulls, white bone where familiar faces used to be. . . _I can’t go down there_ , he thought. _If I do, I can’t be objective. I’m just going to see the corpses of the neighbors who starved to death, my teacher who was murdered in a food riot, the little girl three classes below me, dangling from a meat hook, blood draining from her skeletal body, desperate cannibals slicing into her flesh_. . .

MV Sweetness, with its eight cargo bays, each with a 2,500 cubic meter footprint, could haul close to 800 tons. Where was AVDL going to fence that many diamonds? Kirk didn’t think Hillyard had enough time to fill her ship to the brim, but she’d gotten enough. “Mr. Spock, set up a protocol to search for fluctuations in the diamond market. They’re not dumb enough to flood it at once, but let’s keep an eye on it just the same.”

“Yes, Captain.” Spock replied. “I will also seek out any changes in the quality of the stones coming to market.”

“Good idea.” _Thank you for sticking this out with me, Spock_.

  
  
  
Sha’leyen started the recovery process by going over satellite images of the murder scene to set up a grid. An initial investigation backed-up Captain Kuznetsov’s assertion that one person was killed at a secondary sub-scene while the other thirty-nine happened in the central part of the gridded area.

Dirt was carefully brushed off the topmost bodies. Said dirt went on its own tarp where it could be moved and intricately screened for evidence. The position of each body recorded, photographed, videoed, the first three were taken to the portable morgue where Dr. McCoy did only the most rudimentary workups. He got what he could glean from a quick visual inspection. Mostly, the ship’s physician was on hand to give each body an official case number, get the reams of paperwork started, and declare them legally dead. It would not be until autopsies were performed that the conclusive identifying information began to come in.

Lt. Helen Stryker, one of the geologists, had to return to the ship. It was all too much for her to take. She’d joined the service to explore space and do research, not deal with the aftermath of a massacre. Lt. Seltun returned in her place. He tried to pretend that he was entirely unflappable. “Lt. Commander, my analysis of the soil indicates that the microbial biomass within three meters of the grave has not risen to detectable levels.”

“They haven’t been in the ground long enough to add to the ecosystem. They aren’t even in the nitrogen cycle yet, except in a very superficial manner.” Sha’leyen replied. “Collect samples of the fill, and core the wall of the grave at each level of bodies.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Go to my command tent and find a pair of trench shoes. Our standard issue duty boots are unfit for this kind of work.” She sent the geologist on his way for the smooth-soled shoes delicate fieldwork of this nature required, braced her torso, and leaned into the hole where she continued to use a paintbrush to move soil. A loose wedding ring came out of the folds of a gold tunic. The engraving read: _Trevor and Alice Forever_ , and supposition by the size of the ring, Trevor was in the ground on Melbek III.

They found bullets, or pieces of bullets, the soft lead marked and molded by the barrel of the gun and the things they struck. Faces were unrecognizable, and the process of decomposition was advanced enough that it was hard to determine sex, gender, or species in some cases. The medical DNA lab had a lot of work.

“It’s a patrol ship, Ensign Shore. They all have to wear trousers and a tunic.” Sha’leyen heard Petty Officer Handler dealing with the resident greenhorn. Someone else couldn’t take anymore and was throwing up in the bushes.

“Not in my crime scene!” Sha’leyen sprang up from her prone position and shouted. “If you think you need to be sick, take it outside the perimeter. Do not contaminate the scene.”

“Lt. Commander, take a look at this.” Lt. Etienne Bertin called her over to one of the bodies.

She did not want to believe the information her eyes sent to her brain. Others stopped what they were doing and approached, some recoiled, and others stared ahead, sadness and anger filling their heads.

“It’s called a coffin birth. The vast pressure of gasses and putrefaction that builds in the abdominal cavity forces the uterus to expel the fetus.” Sha’leyen’s academic demeanor is all that kept a few of the crew from falling apart. “We must get back to the task at hand.”

Dr. McCoy came up beside her as people returned to their assignments. “Seeing as you’re in charge down here, do you want me to issue the—” He wanted to say baby, but it hadn’t gotten the chance to be one. “Is the fetus its own case or is it combined with its mother’s?”

“Tribunal law says the products of conception are included under the heading of the gestational party. The latest annotations from Paris, specific to The Uniform Federation Code say it’s my call based on the circumstances of fetal demise and how ‘pre-viable’ it was at the time of death. Following their guidelines and given my crude estimate of gestational age, early second trimester, I should not assign it individual characteristics.”

“Okay.” He said, turning to go back to the mobile morgue. “I’ll keep them together.”

“Leonard?” She’d never called him by his first name before.

“Yes?” He faced her.

“I don’t know how exactly the timing works in humans, but in a Vulcanid pregnancy at this stage of development, there is already the amalgamation and adhesion of the katra.”

The doctor’s blue eyes gave away that he didn’t know what she was talking about before he asked.

“I think you would call it the formation of the soul.”

“The soul?”

“Issue two case numbers.”

  
  
  
Twelve hours later, they were still working under the glare of portable light standards. Body twenty-nine, just lifted from the trench, went on a stretcher. Sha’leyen took over as one of the litter-bearers, Lt. Seltun on the other end, moving the corpse to the morgue.

On approach, she and Lt. Seltun heard the incongruous chortle of laughter, which didn’t stop even as she entered. Perhaps it was because at this point, they didn’t register who she was, as she’d moved from a regular duty uniform to what Starfleet Xenoanth colloquially referred to as shovel-bum attire. The first nine hours of excavation and scene management rendered her uniform a dirt-caked biohazard that got bagged up like the rest of the evidence. She’d made everyone working in the grave-proper change clothes as well.

Hair hidden under a bandana, heather grey t-shirt from a forensic science training course she’d done with Scotland Yard, an old pair of Academy pt stretch pants, and well-worn athletic shoes, she could have been any of the women working down in that hole.

She guided Seltun to the open cot at the end of the third row and helped him transfer the body.

“Whoooooooooo!” One of three laughing security personnel clapped his buddy on the back. “That’s the kind of salute I want to send into the afterlife. Fuck the world and everyone in it. Whoopsie-daisy.”

“Oh, hey, look at me!” The female of the trio giggled followed by the sound of a limb dropping back on a cot made a squishy thud.

“Look at the size of this thing!” Number three hooted and poked at a body. “He’d have had to ride the turbolifts by himself.”

Sha’leyen snuck up on the group. What the first two found so humorous? One of corpse seventeen’s hands was frozen with the middle finger up. The third one was marveling over the distended, putricine gas-swelled genitalia on corpse fifteen.

“Get out!” She shouted, pointing to the entry. “Desecration of the Honored Dead is a reprehensible act.”

She fairly chased them to the artificially lit turf central to the tents and prefabs they were using for preliminary laboratory and administrative space.

“ _On the line_!” She ordered. The three security people played like they didn’t know why she was upset with them.

“What’s all this?” Dr. McCoy, who’d stepped away from the morgue was coming from the direction of the command tent.

“Starfleet has no room within its ranks for those who behave as you have here tonight. I expect and tolerate a certain amount of what is called morgue humor, it’s how the human psyche saves itself from succumbing to the horror we are dealing with.” Work around the site came to a stop. This was a talk everyone needed to hear. “However, there is a broad line between morgue humor and the contemptible behavior Lt. Seltun and I have witnessed on your behalf.

“Not only were you verbally disrespectful to the murdered crew of one of our sisters, but you also defiled their bodies as well.”

One of the red-shirted men tried to object, calling her accusations unfounded.

Sha’leyen held out her open palm to the one doing the talking. “You will not be allowed to resign. Your dishonorable discharge papers will list the following: conduct unbecoming, dereliction of duty, tampering with evidence, abuse of a corpse, and grave-robbing.”

“Whatever it is, I’d give it to her before your chief gets ahold of you.” McCoy suggested, barely reining in his contempt.

The first man hesitated, while the woman offered up a ruby ring stolen from the right hand of corpse sixteen. The second man turned over an antique watch.

“I order you to relinquish what you took from corpse seventeen.”

He tried to get smart with her. “With all due respect, Lt. Commander, you’re not in my chain of command.”

“This is my crime scene. You are on secondment to my team. I may wear blue, but _I am in charge_.”

He set part of a human finger in her upturned hand.

  
  
  
This wasn’t sex, it was a search for obliteration. Kuznetsov writhed beneath Kirk, trying like mad to find that same place. She bit his shoulder, teeth leaving indentations, coming close to breaking the skin, each time he slammed into her. Her nails dug deep red furrows down his back. His hands, rough and ill-mannered, left a patchwork of bruises on her pale body.

They wanted the pain, needed the pain, it was the only thing reminding them they were still alive.

  
  
  
Never had Mollie gotten through immigration and customs in such a timely manner. The screeners, some of whom recognized her from previous run-ins, weren’t happy about waving her through, but there wasn’t a damned thing they could do about it.

From LAX, she had the option of crossing to one of the domestic terminals and immediately catching a puddle jumper to San Francisco, or waiting for the afternoon consulate shuttle. Upon grabbing her cases off the baggage carousel, she opted for the shuttle, so she had time to go home and clean up.

She took a cab to the Fairfax District, where she lived in an old Art Deco service station that long, long ago was converted into a house. There must have been a dozen restaurant menus wedged in her screen door. Key in the lock, one of her neighbors and his dog came bounding up her walk.

“You sure have been popular lately, Miss Mollie.” Roger Dupree, in his late sixties, was something of a one-man neighborhood watch. “About once or twice a day for the last week, this couple keeps coming around, looking for you. Real persistent.”

He projected what his mind remembered them looking like. If his recollection was half-accurate, she didn’t know who they were. “If I was a betting man, which I’m not as you know, I’d say they were hired to find you.”

“I appreciate the warning, Roger.” A flock of ring-neck parakeets took to the trees in her side yard, meeping and bleeping for a few seconds before scattering like a handful of acid green confetti.

“Yep.” He and the dog weren’t making to leave. “Oh, ah, Miss Mollie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been practicing.” He raised his hand in the ta’al. In the three years he’d been her neighbor, he’d never once been able to make his fingers hold the salute, until today.

“How about that?” She could smile around Roger.

“And you know what else I reckon?”

“What’s that?” She turned the key in the lock and on the very edge of her general field of psionic reception, she felt them, two minds so twisted by hate that they didn’t generate their own thoughts.

“You, Miss Mollie, are a gem. Earth’s refusal to accept one of its own is Vulcan’s gain.”


	32. Chapter 32

The peaches were still in bloom as Mollie left Old Highway 99 and turned on the road heading out to the MacCormack’s California home base. She’d always loved the Big House where multiple generations of the family lived and gathered.

“Grandmother said you were coming.” A young girl’s voice sounded from the first-story deck.

“Is she inside?” Mollie’s shoes plonked up the wooden steps. She had to stop two before the end and do a double-take. No matter how prepared she thought she was, Mollie started whenever she clapped eyes on Tralnor’s younger daughter. _Its good to see you again, Amelie Grace_ , she thought. Save the pointed ears and slanted eyebrows, the girl was a dead ringer for her mother.

“She is here. Also, the man who _is not_ her cousin arrived recently as well.”

“Kayva, etiquette?” Mollie said, reminding her eleven-year-old niece of proper protocol.

“Ambassador Sarek was dropped off by his driver thirteen-point-nine minutes ago.”

Mollie grinned. “Smartass.”

Kayva, aware of the status of their guest, did what might be expected of her in a formal situation. She kept her expression blank and tone neutral. “It takes one to know one.”

In through the sliding glass door, Mollie followed the din of familiar voices, finding the people she was looking for drinking tea in the music room. Sarek was looking good for a man who’d be needing a heart transplant sooner rather than later. T’Lal’s skin tone was that of a porcelain bisque doll. Tralnor’s mother was fighting a heretofore unknown form of anemia that came and went. Tralnor’s father, Justin was opening the curtains to let the light in.

“There’s nothing.” Justin said. “It’s just us and the peaches.”

Her uncle must have been psionically linked into some system, checking for AVDL activity. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? Kayva and I don’t need to go back into town.”

“It is best that she not overhear what is going on with her father before we can properly explain.” T’Lal’s ever so slightly mischievous bearing was tangible even in her weakened state. “We are not incapable of defending ourselves should something happen.”

“I can’t help it if I worry.” He drifted over and kissed his wife on the crown of her head. She grasped his hand, and their exchange went through the bond that had made them one soul living in two bodies. When Justin left, part of him was still in the room.

“Kan t’nash-vey.” T’Lal addressed Mollie as _child of mine_ , a term of endearment. “Do you grasp the danger of what you seek?”

“I do. We all do.”

“T’Lal and I have surreptitiously searched for a tavalik duv-tor for over forty years and not come across one. While we have encountered other terrible objects and ensured their destruction, we have no firsthand advice pertaining to this specific item.” Sarek was not a diplomat today. He was a concerned father. “Neither you, nor my son, have experience in dealing with exhibits of this nature. While Tralnor has exposure, his psionic disposition could be manipulated against him.”

The time Mollie spent in Lyr Saan City was to engage in study at the Temple or to visit with family. She rarely visited the ruins of Old Lyr Saan, and she’d never been good at psionically reading inanimate objects. She sensed when she got close to a powerful, negatively charged artifact or place. It felt like her head filled up with swarming hornets and her primitive brain functions made her want to run away. “We admit the task is daunting.”

“It is deadly.” Sarek said. “T’Pau has overstepped by involving—” He swallowed hard to stave a corporeal show of emotion. “—our children.”

“Right now, we’re still flailing around in the dark. We need to know more.” Mollie said, finally sitting. “Sha’leyen has the most tangible resources we’ve got, but she’s tapped for information.”

“Thol-ro-kan Sha’leyen still lives?” Had T’Lal’s face not been paled by illness, any trace of green would have drained away.

 _Girl of Noble Birth_? Mollie could ask questions later. “She’s a bioarchaeologist on the Enterprise.”

“Tralnor’s bondmate?” Sarek queried.

“The youngest of thirteen children of the deposed Third Regents of Belon. She was raised within Temple Ko-tek’ru Kaylara.” T’Lal shared a glance with Sarek. “Belon is still riddled with pre-Reform booby traps.”

Mollie could sort-of feel the rhythm of the telepathic conversation she was not part of. Mere seconds of silence, then voices returned.

“Sha’leyen will have been trained on some methods of how to behave with artifacts of malice.” T’Lal poured herself another cup of tea. “If she will allow it, a meld transfer of her knowledge is the quickest way to buoy your fundamental shortcomings. The rest will have to be theoretical rather than practical instruction.”

“T’Lal and I have had decades in which to refine our methods, to learn skills that are outside the scope of our daily lives and careers.” Another hesitation. “In my work with her, I have been forced to the absolute perimeter of my psionic abilities. My son’s human lineage is not rife with telepaths or those with other psychic gifts. He is at a disadvantage, as that is where his greatest weakness as a Vulcan lies.”

That was a burn Mollie wasn’t going to put up with. While father and son were recently back on speaking terms, Sarek did not truly know his child. “Spock is an _excellent_ telepath.”

“As a child, he was tested and placed in the eleventh percentile, almost classified a psi-null.” Sarek thought what he said was final, the law.

“No.” Mollie returned. “Your son is anything but a psi-null.”

Sarek didn’t like to be challenged. He slipped into diplomat gear, reason on his side, determined to prove he was correct. “There are many who have low-to-no telepathic powers who lead almost normal lives.”

T’Lal preemptively raised a hand. “Sa-pi-maat, what she says is the truth.”

Mollie blinked rapidly and gave her head a short shake while memories catapulted about. Reluctant to get into the intricacies of the incredible effort Spock put in throughout his childhood and teen years to open those sleepy psionic pathways in his mind, how he learned to handle burgeoning new abilities, Mollie was not apprehensive about what she said next, a coup, “He has Refraction Syndrome.”

Sarek’s side of the argument fell dead, an accusatory fire flashed across his thoughts.

“Which, as you know, only seems to occur in the most psionically astute individuals, around the ninety-third percentile and up. Nobody even told him that Refraction Syndrome existed because you don’t have to tell a psi-null that my hymen tearing would make it feel like his guts were being ripped out.”

Sarek looked away from the conversation, reordering his thoughts and adding to the universe of information he didn’t know about his own child.

“He is, as I said, an excellent telepath, and with people he’s psionically intimate with, he doesn’t need the touch to communicate.” _But you wouldn’t know that because you never bothered to meld with him. You thought it would be a waste of time._ “He’s a high functioning empath for a non-Lyr Saan. He followed Tralnor into the Enterprise’s computer while it was under attack, went through a full assumption meld, and telekinetically built a new security protocol to protect the ship.”

Too much like T’Pau, Sarek would not explicitly say he was wrong.

“Mollie, you have made your point.” T’Lal called her off.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Mollie deferred to her elder. (It’s that kind of thinking that drove Spock away in the first place.)

(He knows, Mollie. He carries his inadequacies as a parent like an open sore packed with rock salt.) “I am stepping out to retrieve some items from my car.”

“Let me help you, T’Lal.” Mollie needed to get out of that room for a few minutes.

“You will stay.” T’Lal put a sweatshirt on over her thermal henley and stepped away.

Mollie had, throughout the years, gone the rounds with Sarek. She respected him deeply and thought of him as a sort-of uncle. He and Lady Amanda were a couple of Livia’s closest friends and had always been a presence in Mollie’s life.

Usually, they’d have their squabbles and get over it, but the one topic they never spoke about was his son. He’d tried once or twice in the early years of that feud, but Mollie refused to get involved, even though she’d clearly been on Spock’s side and would defend her friend to the ends of the earth.

“How did he do it?” Was this the father, scientist, or Clan Elder who wanted to know?

She weighed telling him, arriving at the conclusion that he should know because it was a learning objective that could potentially improve the lives of others. “It started in earnest when my siblings and I left California and went to stay with T’Lessa. Spock was always so worried about disappointing you. He thought he needed to prove he was worthy and surmised that by working on what Golic society thinks of as weakness, that you might eventually believe him an actual Vulcan.

“At about the same time, I decided I wanted to join the ranks of the T’Kerh at Temple Kotekru Kaylara when I got older. In order to do that, you’ve got to be a touch telepath, which I was not.”

Sarek connected the proverbial dots. “That was when the both of you began on the neuro-psi research you are still working on today.”

She nodded. “We started out on neural pathway pattern imprinting to lay the groundwork to induce touch telepathy in me and simultaneously started coaxing the latent parts of Spock’s psi into waking up. The infrastructure was always there, just nobody bothered to see if it worked.”

“Who were the healers and teachers that would engage in this kind of work with minors?” He likely thought she’d implicate members of her family or the Lyr Saan at large who’d been cajoled by a couple of kids into helping them commit major psychic manipulation without the consent of guardians.

“We were.”

He squared his shoulders and let the implications of their actions tick by in his mind. “You could have gotten yourselves killed.”

“Books, interviews with experts, painstaking research on methods, building on what we knew from our own psionic instruction we’d had up to that point, we took all of that and used ourselves as our first test subjects.”

“What you did was astonishingly dangerous.” His reach as a father into this part of his son’s life was coming too little too late.

“He didn’t think he had a choice. You didn’t want a psi-null not-quite-Vulcan as a son.” Yes, they’d been imprudent, but with the weight of Clan Surak crushing him, Spock believed the undertaking was worth the risk.

Sarek said nothing for several seconds, and they let the grandfather clock in the corner make the only sound. “Spock is Vulcan, raised in the Vulcan way.”

“Then why was the admissions committee so reluctant to allow a half-human into the student body at the VSA? He’d blown through the entrance exams like they were nothing, even the part where they tested his psi abilities.”

“Regardless, the committee did come to the logical conclusion when they made their choice to admit him.”

 _Of course, you’re going to make excuses for the status quo_ , she thought. “That’s the same committee that chose to admit me, without question. Why were they worried about Spock and not me? Where is the logic in that? I’m the one who should have been told don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

“The Lyr Saan, as much as they are regarded with an air of caution, have the reputation of instilling the most intense psionic discipline and order in all of Vulcan.” It was strange to hear such opinion, even from Sarek, who’d never, as far as Mollie knew, been disparaging to the Lyr Saan. “That is why the methods of the MacCormack family have meshed so well into that system. You also possess the same intelligence that has set the MacCormacks apart on this world.”

“But the Lyr Saan are also seen as overly-emotional telepathic criminals. How is that more favorable than someone who’s followed the valued Golic paradigm, and only has half the human DNA that I do?” She hated the conclusion this was heading to. “Is it truly just a matter of semantics? Does it boil down to the paperwork that says I’m Vulcan and he’s only half?”

No comment, Sarek waited on Mollie to continue.

“Everyone knows the Lyr Saan are strange, their genetics were spliced and diced with humans thousands of years ago, that’s just how they are, you can’t change it. And what, I’m just a fraction more irregular than the typical model, so that’s okay? Stop me if I hit on something.” Her lifetime of frustration in the disparity of how Spock was treated by his own people was on display. “The descendants of Surak are unadulterated, except for Spock, and are the most Vulcan of all Vulcans, revered and emulated.”

“Hyperbole, Mallia?” Sarek finally interrupted her, not wanting to hear any more.

“In mainstream Vulcan society, you are perceived as powerful, Mallia Ah’delvna.” T’Lal walked in, pulling a run-of-the-mill black suitcase behind her. “By the time you were seventeen, you’d mastered the highest levels of the Lyr Saan General Disciplines and had started into the specialties. Even during your interludes on earth, you kept up with those Vulcan ways. You studied, you trained, you did what we expected of you and excelled. You continue to do so.

“In error, Spock is viewed as weak. Regardless of how well he fulfills the ideal set by Surak, he has not lived up to the expectations people have set for him. They are promised a person composed of complementary halves, but he does not display as such. They prod and goad, looking for those same elements that they find disquieting about the Lyr Saan and are disturbed at what they discover: in every way that counts, Spock is a full Gol. Therefore, they think he lacks tempering and flexibility, and is expected to shatter.”

“Speculation.” Sarek said.

“Believe what you choose, Sa-pi-maat.” T’Lal opened the case. “And now that you know how Spock refined his psionic talents, you will agree that he has the capacity to be a part of a Kennuk.”

Hidden inside the generic piece of luggage was an arsenal of tools to use in the hunt for and fight against artifacts of malice.


	33. Chapter 33

Arriving fifteen minutes early for his shift at the media lab, Tralnor sat down and logged into his station, feeling the need to get a start on the massive pending list for the coming horde of forensics testing. The idea was to have something going before Chavez walked in and started antagonizing everyone. He accepted a task that didn’t require anyone’s help and began loading up the war wagon for its first round of lab visits.

“Dr. Tralnor.” The quiet was too good to last.

“Yes, Lt. Chavez?”

“The, uh, Captain is here, for you.” Chavez scuttled away, having finally met the one person on board he didn’t think he could bully.

Tralnor closed and latched the incubator hatch on the front end of the cart. “Good morning, Captain.”

Kirk stepped into the stock room. “You won’t think so after you hear my request. Can I shut this door?”

“That’s fine.” He set down the data padd containing the orders.

“Can you go down to the surface and _see what you can see_?” Like slides from a lecture about surviving the worst depravity hell had to offer, images from Kirk’s life under the reign of Kodos the Executioner surged into the forefront of his mind. “There’s an especially disturbing—”

“Don't give me any details. I need to go in with as clean perception as I can.”

“This isn’t an order. You can say no.” Kirk didn’t want to inflict the kinds of experiences he’d suffered on anyone else. “We just want to have as much as we can to put the screws to Laura Hillyard and that fucking AVDL. Spock said that you can ‘read’ the scene.”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“He also said it’ll be—” Staggered by his experiences, the captain’s mind blanked, skipped a track, and settled back into his original line of thought. “Traumatic.”

“I expect it will.” Tralnor said. “When do you want me down there?”

_You don’t have to do this_! Kirk was not comfortable with this plan. “I’ll give you until 0900 to meet me in Transporter Room Two.”

Immediately after Kirk vacated the stock room, Chavez squeezed back in. “What kind of super-special pet-project are you off on now, at a time when I can actually use you? I can’t afford to be a man down, not when we’re going to be slammed with forty postmortems and other ancillary tests.”

“I’m dispatching to the surface to empathically analyze the mass murder and reconstruct the act as it happened.” He started on a soft meditation exercise to level off his own anxiety at what he’d be doing.

The smug-factor collapsed and folded out of the way, and Chavez looked and sounded genuinely humane for the first time since Tralnor joined the media lab. “They’re making you re-live each of those deaths in your head?”

“I volunteered.”

_That almost makes it worse_. “Dr. Tralnor, go do what you need to do to get ready. We’ll handle the rest of this just fine without you.”

With all of his cabin-mates at their various work assignments, Tralnor had the room to himself. He’d not brought the tools of the T’Kehr’s trade with his inability to practice those rites, not thinking that he might need some of those items for the call of duty.

_I will simply have to make-do_ , he thought. The most important aspect of this upcoming challenge was priming his mind to process the overwhelming shock and horror of the scene.

He sat on the edge of his bed and drew his consciousness into a meditative trance, establishing a foundation of order and symmetry through which to channel the obliteration of forty human souls.

  
  
  
True to his word, Captain Kirk met Tralnor in Transporter Room Two. He was trying to keep a facade of calm for the crew operating the equipment. “Ah, Dr. Tralnor, right on time.”

“Like Vulcans are ever late for anything, am I right?” The younger of the guys in red said. He tried to smile, not finding an audience for his light-hearted jab. In a serious tone, “Party of two, Captain?”

“Three, Ensign. We’re waiting on Mr. Spock.” And like Kirk had pronounced an incantation, the first officer stepped into the transporter room.

“I have taken the liberty of putting this together for you.” Spock pulled the shoulder strap of a small courier-type bag over his head, handing it off to Tralnor. “And I brought you this.”

Draped over Spock’s right arm was a black robe, trimmed with his family name and clan. Tralnor held off taking the garment as presented.

“You would honor Clan Surak by representing us whilst engaged in this undertaking. Will you accept this mantle?”

“I shall.” Tralnor said.

  
  
  
He stood for a moment and let the sunshine warm his face while a delicate breeze picked up the ends of his hair where it was starting to grow out. Eyes closed, he zeroed in on the lingering strains of putrified corpses that tinged the air. Eyes open, he followed Kirk and Spock into the command tent.

Captain Lyudmilla Kuznetsov and her first officer, Commander Donell Cosgriff, were talking with Sha’leyen and Dr. McCoy.

McCoy’s brow rose into his hairline. “Dare I even ask?”

Tralnor set his bag on a table stacked with boxes of disposable gloves and masks and put on his borrowed robe. Then he looked to see what Spock collected for him. Stick incense, a lighter, a pohshayek-tilek, the removable bayonet from an ancient Golic disrupter-style rifle, and a strip of old parchment upon which Spock had written one of the tenets of Surak: Nufau au sochya - yi dungi ma tu sochya. _Offer them peace, then you shall have peace_.

He joined the grouping of officers where they stood around a map table. “Thank you, Spock.”

(You are welcome, Tralnor, though I must apologize for having suggested you for this.)

(What’s the use of having a mair-rigolauya around if they can’t be run through their paces?) Tralnor spread the sarcasm thick.

“Dr. Tralnor has been with us for not quite a month.” Kirk was explaining just what this music teacher from California was doing.

(I’m going to block you out now, Spock. You don’t need to shadow me on this.) He armored up his mental shields and controls focusing on the route Spock took into his brain for their simple conversations and cauterized the link.

Like fingers slammed in a door, Spock was cut off. He knew Tralnor’s reasons for doing this had merit, but it still smarted and made him feel like he was trapped in his own head. So many years of limited psionic contact with anyone, then a few weeks of completely open telepathic communication, Spock hungered for the touch of another mind the instant that link was gone.

  
  
  
Captain Kirk’s description of Tralnor’s task over, Sha’leyen led everyone from the command tent to the location of the now-empty mass grave. She kept McCoy and both command teams on the margins and let Tralnor move forward on his own.

Uncertain what a temporarily unconsecrated Lyr Saan T’Kehr would do, Spock looked on with a combination of curiosity and dread.

“Spock, what’s this poor bastard been put up to?” McCoy muttered next to him. “Jim almost sounded like you in there the way he described things.”

“It is the burden of a mair-rigolauya.” Spock replied, knowing McCoy would find his non-explanation annoying, but there was no better way of putting it.

“ _Right_.” McCoy rolled his eyes. “I forget that no one is supposed to even see the insides of Vulcan mysticism let alone understand how it works. _How tacky of me_.”

  
  
  
Tralnor stood on the edge of the grave, air currents sending Spock’s robe on a billowy dance. Incense lit, Tralnor waved it beneath his nose, taking in the weak psychotropic elements of the stringy smoke. It burned rapidly as it was meant to.

Extinguished stub placed back into the bag, Tralnor held his arms close to his body with the palms up, acting as if he was there to catch the rays of the sun. Three more deep breaths, he dissolved his shields.

With the swift brutality of a guillotine, a gasp of air issued from Tralnor’s lungs, all of his senses flared like a calcium phosphide fusee. Limbs moved, but not of his accord, hands reached not connecting, face contorted, mind scouring the layers of human psychic imprint, his voice relayed the last thoughts and words of the dead. . .

“ _What about my daughter_? _Who’s going to tell my daughter_? _Amy_!”

Eyes blink, a ragged breath, “ _Why didn’t we leave_? _Anyone with any fucking sense would have done just what this crazy blond bitch said we should have. Fuck you, Franklin. Fuck you so hard you gag on it_.”

Fingers laced behind his head, eyes not seeing the present, Tralnor curled the toes of his boots over the lip of the hole, and they were gone.

“ _I didn’t call my mom. I didn’t call my mom. I didn’t call my mom_.” Face up toward the sky. “ _I didn’t—_ ”

“. . . _hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven_. . .”

Tears and resignation.

“ _Jeremy_! _She shot Jeremy_! _Mom_!”

Wordless screams of terror and anguish.

“Spock.” McCoy snarled. “Enough! Stop this madness.”

“Even if I could, Doctor.” Was there any use in fighting the horror seeping into his own voice? “I would not know how.”

  
  
  
“Doctor, you cannot go to him.” Sha’leyen forced the ship’s physician into line.

“He’s a member of my crew and he’s in a bad way.” McCoy made another step off and was summarily restrained by Kirk and Spock. “He needs medical attention.”

“Bones, please. Stay back.” The captain implored.

Kuznetsov and Cosgriff cried unabashedly. They knew everyone who’d served and died from the Seren. They were overheard whispering names of those whose final thoughts they recognized. Loose hairs adhered to the wet patches on Kuznetsov’s face.

Tralnor grabbed at the sides of his head, fingers digging into the scalp right above his ears and screamed, his pain, his hell, his fear, for a smattering of seconds before he was carried back into the massacre. He walked a firing line, pulling the trigger. “ _You danced with the devil and lost, Captain Franklin_! _Starfleet can’t save you, not where you’re going—And you, Lt. Commander, you don’t want me to hurt your baby_? _Don’t grovel to me. Address your concerns to the man who put you here. He did this_!”

He mimed Laura placing one shot to the back of the pregnant officer’s head.

Thirty-seven-point-two minutes into the one-man show, the time when bullet number forty snuffed out the top-most body in the grave, Tralnor doubled over, clutching at his right side, as his body rejected the contents of his stomach.

Wailing and retching, he staggered about a meter-and-a-half, where he went to his knees.

He initiated something deep within, gradually returning his conscious self to the realm of the living. Chest heaving, Tralnor wept as he reached for the strip of parchment and the bayonet.

The spectacle gathered a crowd as it had unfolded and one of the watchers shouted, “Oh my god! He’s got a knife!”

McCoy sprang forth as the honed blade glinted in the sun. Sha’leyen jackrabbited after, tackling the doctor to the turf.

The weapon flicked.

A fine line of green showed on Tralnor’s palm. Bayonet stabbed into the ground, parchment over the bleed, he hobbled on his knees to the grave’s ledge. “Etwel la’tusa du-ek.” _We mourn for you_. He dropped Spock’s note into the hole and fell backward onto the trampled grass.

  
  
  
“How could you even think of doing that to someone?” McCoy sequestered the command teams and Sha’leyen off into the command tent once he’d seen that Tralnor was physically stable. When the Vulcan had started grabbing at his heart, the doctor was sure he was witnessing a cardiac arrest.

“Spock said it would be traumatic.” Jim said, not trying to hide his own guilt.

“ _Traumatic_?” McCoy’s blood pressure spiked with his temper. “What all of us here today saw, how we felt watching, that’s traumatic. What Dr. Tralnor went through was ghastly and completely unjustified.”

“So, you are not familiar with the concept of necessary evil?” Kuznetsov challenged. “Those are my friends in your morgue.”

“It seems like he’s going to be okay.” Cosgriff’s red hair and freckles clashed with his red tunic. “And it’s not like this was any treat for us.”

The doctor’s brows crawled up into his hairline. “Do you hear yourselves?”

“Doctor, perhaps if I were to explain—” Spock started.

“Spock, so help me, if you say the word logic, I’ll—”

Sha’leyen put two fingers in her mouth to make a sharp whistle, then shouted, “ _Mura koish’a’siq_!”

The use of a language only one of the five of them could understand made just enough confusion it destabilized the emotional aggression to make all four humans stop what they were doing.

McCoy scowled in the bioarcheaologist’s general direction. “Spock, do we get a translation?”

“She told us to drop the argument.”

McCoy caved temporarily. “Perhaps if you were to explain what, Spock?”

“Lt. Commander Sha’leyen’s preliminary reports, as a continuation of what the officers aboard the USS Dragon have told us, indicate that there is potentially zero physical evidence that Laura Hillyard was here on the surface of Melbek III. If we are unsuccessful at retrieving the twelve survivors of this massacre, we may not have evidence that she was here at all.”

Sometimes, McCoy could catch a smidgen of a thaw in the first officer’s glacial presentation, but what was coming through right now had a bite to it, anger and maybe even hate. He kind of got the notion that if given the chance, Spock would like, as in get great personal satisfaction, from taking out Hillyard himself.

“On my world, a reading by a thoroughly-trained and vetted empath, such as the one Dr. Tralnor performed today, is a legal process that culminates in an evidentiary document that is admissible in trials and other court proceedings.” Spock reeled himself back in. “Yes, he has suffered here today, and that is deeply regrettable, but he was not bribed, ordered, or coerced into coming down.”

“You know I’d never wish something like this on my worst enemy.” Jim said. “But its concrete proof, Bones. We’ve got her.”

  
  
  
Sarah David, finally able to step away from her temporary lab bench down on Melbek III, went to the barracks tent where Dr. Tralnor was recovering. Her eyes still burned from the despair of seeing what her mentor had endured.

An impromptu partition of privacy screens and a sheet draped over the gap to provide a door of sorts, gave some dignity. She knew Dr. Tralnor was blatantly, unapologetically emotional for a Vulcan because of his heritage, but what went on today. . .

_I doubt he’s conscious yet, but I feel like I need to be here for him_. She pulled back the sheet and was hit first with a wave of warmth from a space heater, then by the presence of The Krampus.

“He did not have to do what he did.” Lt. Seltun crouched on a low folding-stool. His hands were knotted together, and he used them to block her view of his face, failing to completely mask the dismay and anguish he couldn’t yet shake. “Given time, evidence against Hillyard—”

“What you’re saying, that sounds like hope. You hope we’ll find strong enough evidence on Hillyard, not just the crew of the Sweetness.” Sarah heard Tralnor’s deep, constant breathing as permission to turn her attention to Seltun.

The last twenty-four hours had been the most wrenching and emotionaly brutal Sarah had endured, and she didn’t have to speculate that for Seltun, the same was true. She knelt as to gaze directly into the younger Vulcan’s slate grey eyes. Maybe if she gave him something to focus on he could wrangle his controls back into place. While the rest of the crew could allow themselves a silent cry, Seltun was not afforded that respite. “Fna’vokaya ha’kiv naumautau mugel-t’tevik.”

“Through memories, life transcends the darkness of death.” Seltun repeated in Standard.

“Fna’shaula tra’starpa’shaya.”

“Through self-control, there is clarity.”

“Fna’mair-kun-it, etek kah-ru s’zakaran.”

“Through great adversity, we learn from sacrifice.”

Sarah watched Seltun’s mind start to pull itself together. “Ek’wak, rompotau krusa, fa-wak ri’vesht.”

“And forever, we carry the reminders that our future must not become our past.”

“ _Per viam memorias, aeterna vita, quam mortis tenebrae. Compos animi, ratio est. Ab angustiis, ex sacfricium discimus. Semper habemus iteratus, futura nostro praeterita non fiet_.” Sha’leyen offered a recitation. “I learned the Latin version first as a child.”

Sarah didn’t realize she and Seltun were being watched, nor for how long Lt. Commander Sha’leyen and Commander Spock had been there.

“As written by General Gaius Quintus Mu’gel-tam t’Lyr Saan.” Spock said.

“Ma’am, Sir.” Seltun tried to get up without letting Sarah move first. His hand grazed her face, which sent him back down to the stool.

_How can you be_ —? His proclamation whispered through to Sarah’s mind.

“Spock and I have come to take Tralnor back to the ship. As you are both here, we ask for your assistance.” Sarah immediately said yes. Seltun may only have complied because she did.


	34. Chapter 34

Sha’leyen hadn’t stopped at her quarters on her way up from Melbek III, opting to shower in the medical staff’s changing room before slipping on a borrowed set of surgical scrubs and joining McCoy, and Dragon’s CMO, Dr. Abbott, in performing the autopsies.

Toweling off, she walked up to the scrub cupboard and opened the drawer where she would find a pair of disposable underpants.

“How the hell is this person allowed to perform an autopsy on a Christmas turkey, let alone a human being? I understand needing all hands, but honestly, this woman is no better than a witch. You should have seen what she did to Mr. Spock and Dr. Tralnor.”

“Chrissy, really? She can’t be a complete charlatan. She does run an entire department. I’m friends with Petty Officer Handler, and she’s never come close to saying anything like this about the Lt. Commander.” Another nurse, Joan Patel said.

“Candles, little glass vials full of newt’s eye and dragon claw, grinding things up and mixing them into this _stuff_. It’s just so, _primitive_. I guess she’s some kind of voodoo priestess from a civilization the Vulcans left behind.”

“Just let her do her work, which is what we should be doing. Come on.” Joan cajoled.

“I don’t trust her, Joan.” Chapel opened a locker and rummaged for something.

“Why now after being on the same boat for four years? This is the first you’ve ever said to me about this person.”

“ _The way she touched them_. . .”

Exasperated, Joan sighed.“Do not go off on Vulcans right now. Spock barely knows you’re alive and you insulted Dr. Tralnor to the point that he threw you out. Give it up, Chrissy, and move on with your life.”

Locker closed, the two moved in on Sha’leyen’s location. Chapel went on some more. “There’s something going on, Joan. Spock respects her, McCoy is practically in love with her, and its like they can’t see that she’s nothing but a massive con. Tell me, what exactly are her _credentials_?”

“I don’t know, Chrissy, but I suppose you could ask.” Joan pointed at the topic of their conversation.

“BSci, medical microbiology and pharmacology from Sura’Kahr Institute of Technology; MSci and Ph.D., bioarchaeological and forensic anthropology from University College London; Postgraduate Certifications in forensic pathology, crime scene management, and analytical pharmacology from the Home Office, Hendon Police College, and Kings College in that order. I also spent two years whilst working on my Ph.D. as a Special Constable attached to a Major Crimes team with the Met.” Sha’leyen rarely spoke of her educational background, having found that it intimidated people, and she was intimidating enough without help. “I had intended on making my career in London, but I happened into a Starfleet recruiter at a forensics symposium, and six weeks after I was hooded, I was in San Francisco for the swearing-in at Officer Candidate School.”

“Holy shit, she’s an ex-cop.” Joan said to Chapel before addressing Sha’leyen. “Handler said you were cool.”

“I was raised in the way of the Lyr Saan, of whom the principal philosophy is following the way of saven-tor, nah-tor, and ken-tor: education, contemplation, and understanding. As a T’Kehr of the Temple of Queen Kaylara, I chose to dedicate my life to sharing and applying knowledge, even if that application comes in the form of ancient methods and formulae for mind-saving, life-saving, psychoactive compounds.”

Chapel looked like she wanted to crawl off into a cave and never come out again.

“I do not criticize your cultural background.” Sha’leyen was calm, non-accusatory. “I do not belittle your education. I do not question your competence in your profession. As a courtesy, I ask that you extend such niceties to all members of the crew.”

  
  
  
Tralnor woke up not in sick bay, and for that he was glad. After his foray on Melbek III, he couldn’t have handled another encounter with McCoy’s charge nurse. He’d been returned to the Enterprise, just not sure where, as it was almost warm enough to be comfortable.

“Spock?” Tralnor grabbed the bedclothes and held on tight as a whirl of vertigo upended his internal gyroscopes. “Are you here?”

A dim light went on allowing Tralnor to gauge his surroundings.

“We decided to bring you to my quarters to keep you out of close proximity to Seren’s dead while you recovered.” Spock appeared at the cross-through between the sleeping and work areas.

He let the pillow cradle his head. “Very kind of you, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“Your presence is not an intrusion.” Spock took up residence on a chair wedged in by the head of the bed.

A cautious tendril of psionic energy brushed on the tattered edges of Tralnor’s mind, something of a confirmation that he’d actually survived his ordeal. “I didn’t want to shut you out like I did. I had to, for your own sake.”

“Forgive my trespass, Tralnor. I did not mean any disrespect.”

“Nothing to forgive my friend.” He canted his head to better see his host. “It is in our innate nature to seek out the compatible minds of friends, family, and intimate partners. . . You do not want to be in here with me right now. Let me create the rough draft of my report, then you can come calling.”

A single, curt nod. “That is most generous, Tralnor, but you do not have to cater to my debility.”

Tralnor reached out and clapped his hand over Spock’s. _Do not beg pardon for being yourself_.

  
  
  
Rural France was a blur as the train propelled itself toward Paris. Mollie caught her reflection in the window, that person looking back at her wondered if she had it in her to survive the tavalik duv-tor.

“We are being watched.” Sarek occupied the seat next to her.

“They had to have found us when we checked in at the consulate in London.” The idea was to fly from San Francisco to London, acting like that was their final destination. When they completed their trivial official task, they went off into the city, changed clothes, and melted into the millions of people who called London home, shaking any tail they may have brought from North America.

“That seems likely.”

“The rot goes far deeper than just the Council.” The stark reality of what that meant hit hard. Other than T’Pau and T’Lessa, there was no one in the government they could trust, and T’Pau was hamstrung by her own staff.

“Stariben t’kup, Mallia.” _Speak to me_. . .

Mollie nodded, took her left hand out of her pocket, and placed it on the seat between them. He grasped her over the back of her palm, and she let him in.

(We must assume that San Francisco is compromised as well. You cannot contact me there, lest a member of my staff is corrupted.)

Part of what was discussed back at the Big House in Turlock was calling home for guidance should their fledgling Kennuk need help as they prepared to face this ancient evil. And they were going to need help. Once they left the Enterprise, fast and secure communication would be a struggle. The direct line to Sarek was thought safer and quicker than T’Lal and Justin’s civilian connection.

(Going through the universities will be just as fraught.) She said. (These people have been staking out my house. Laura jumped the gun on thinking I’d be involved in this, but she turned out not to be wrong.)

(That one has always been very perceptive. It is unfortunate that such intelligence is wasted on hate and violence.) Sarek allowed Mollie to feel his genuine disgust at Laura. (I know her mother. Tatyana Golovkin could not be more different than her daughter. Laura could have followed in her mother’s example and become—a person rather than a specter of enmity.)

“Monsieur, Mademoiselle, puis-je offrir un rafraîchissement?” An attendant with a drinks trolley working the aisle stopped to inquire. On autopilot, he said, "Peut-être un verre de vin?”

 _Oh merde, un Vulcain_! The young man’s brain shouted just as loud as the pained expression on his face. “Nous—nous avons une belle sélection de thé et d'eau pétillante—I mean, we have a nice selection of tea and sparkling water.”

“Quels sont vos vins rouges?” Sarek asked.

“Nos vins rouges—” He had to stop and think about something that was usually so rote. “Nos vins rouges sont un Bourgogne de Laroche et Chateau Picard. . . Nous avons un choix plus vaste au bar.”

“Le Bourgogne va bien.” The Vulcan replied.

“Je vais avoir la même chose, merci.” Mollie said, thinking a glass of Burgundy would do her a world of good right then.

Sarek accepted his drink. “Pourquoi voyager en France si vous n'allez pas boire le vin?”

 _Who travels to France and doesn’t drink the wine_? That got a grin out of Mollie, which let the attendant feel he could give a cagey smile, thus defusing the whole stressful situation.

“A toast? Skil abru’ri-fainusu-pthak.” She raised her glass.

“Victory over xenophobia.” They completed the short ceremony and sipped.

(You know who we can rely on to relay our messages?) It wouldn’t be terribly efficient, but she thought it would work. (Joe Bergman and Sohja.)

(I do not know this Joe Bergman, but Sohja, her mother and I collaborated on some experiments early in our astrophysics careers. Am I correct that these two people are members of your music ensemble alumni network?)

(They are, and I trust them implicitly.)

(I see.) He said. (Why them, and how will this arrangement work?)

(Joe, Sohja, and Tralnor are currently working on getting a feature film we did as undergrads cleaned up and officially released. The three of them are in constant contact with one another right now for reasons entirely unrelated to AVDL activity or the search for the tavalik duv-tor. In turn, they are also in touch with other players in the project, including me and your son.)

(My son?)

(I’ll explain that later.) There wasn’t time to fall down that rabbit hole. (If all we’re talking about is the film itself, or the Kennuk’s work coded in film terms, anyone who intercepts these messages won’t find anything useful. Joe is a producer who lives in LA and is a pretty big hitter in the Industry. He could potentially be working on a new project, like a documentary on Vulcans who live here on earth, and have legitimate access to you and T’Lal in person if need be. He and Sohja would do anything for us on this quest.)

Still not convinced, Sarek needed more before considering this idea.

(Sohja was close friends with Amelie Grace and Jock Balloch. Joe, to this day, can’t say my sister-in-law’s name because he’s still in mourning. They’ve wanted justice for those murders, and if they can help get it by aiding and abetting in our affair, they will stop at nothing.)

  
  
  
Somewhat rested, Tralnor settled at Spock’s desk and started to type, building a searchable database about the mass killing as he put together the report. Converting each death into narrative gave further order to the gnashing chaos of their words and emotions.

There was honor in granting dignity to the dead.

  
  
  


Paris greeted them with a deluge of rain. Not being on official business, Mollie and Sarek had to wade their way through the taxi queue, so by the time they got a car, they were soaked through. The weather made for slow traffic in the air and on the ground. Their driver complained about losing tourist fares and cranked up the air conditioner to defog the windows. Forty minutes later and practically blue from the cold, they arrived at the members-only club where Sarek arranged for he and Mollie to meet Ambassador Lianna of Delta IV.

The maître d’ thought they looked like a couple of drowned rats and refused admittance until Sarek placed his credentials on the podium.

“Ambassador! So very sorry to have delayed you and your—” The maître d’ waggled an eyebrow at Mollie.

“She is my aide.”

“Of course, Sir.” He made a disapproving noise. “Please follow me.”

“Guillaume, enough harassing my guests.” Lianna was a tiny woman with a commanding presence. She wore a flapper-style headband that only made her gleaming cranium more beautiful. “He likes to think he’s protecting me. You know how easily confused and threatened humans can get.”

Once the introductions were made, Mollie found she liked Lianna. The Deltan was warm and witty and took great delight in sending sarcastic faces at those who thought it within their right to stare at her or the people at her table.

“I recommend everything on the menu except the gratin dauphinois. Chef slices the potatoes too thick then bakes them at too high a temperature for not enough time. Very disappointing.” She went through the entire meal talking about topics of negligible importance, not sounding like a diplomat at all, much to the disappointment of people around them hoping to land on some juicy tidbit to sell to the society pages and tabloids.

After nearly ninety minutes, Mollie and Sarek followed Lianna through the kitchens and out into a side street where they climbed into an estate car so bland people who owned vehicles like it spontaneously dropped dead from boredom. From there, Mollie thought they’d start off for Federation Headquarters. Instead, they headed out into the suburbs until they entered a garage at a house just as plain as the car.

Reassurances there was only one person in the house didn’t entirely quell the far-flung thought that Lianna was setting them up with an assassin. Mollie let her mind take a sniff around to search out any blatant dangers and didn’t find anything.

The Deltan took them into the house to the sitting room. “Jennifer, we are here.”

From another corner of the building, Federation President Jennifer Cullen emerged. Wearing ordinary street clothes, she looked like a normal person. She and Lianna met in the middle of the room and embraced before giving one another a peck on the lips.

“The message I got from T’Pau suggested we meet in as unobtrusive place as possible to discuss some ‘interesting archaeology’ and there’s nowhere like mine and Lianna’s little love nest.”

Lianna giggled. “It looks like a normal home, but it’s completely analog, and the walls and surfaces are all impregnated with wyantium. No one can hear us, see us, or sense us within our plain little abode.”

“Which is, unfortunately, imperative when you’ve got to keep secrets.” The President let her fingers graze her lover’s face.

“But T’Pau knows about you.” Mollie stated rather than asking.

Another laugh from Lianna, “T’Pau introduced us to one another seventeen years ago when we were both on assignment on Vulcan. She thought we’d be good together, and working in the diplomatic world, we kept things very much out of the public eye. Then Jennifer’s career took off. We’ve kept our relationship underground.”

“Public opinion would sink us both. Headlines would scream: _Deltan Sex Scandal-President Seduced!; Who’s In Charge? Delta IV Pulling President Cullen’s Strings_.”

The President moved her and Lianna to the smaller of the sofas. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

Sarek chose a wingback chair and Mollie took the corner of the empty couch.

“Your communique from T’Pau may have been intercepted by AVDL spies.” Sarek said. “They are very active within the Council and have seen many privileged messages.”

“No need to worry, Ambassador.” The President said. “I was on Vulcan two weeks ago. T’Pau and I met in person at Clan Surak’s Tat’sahr retreat. Nothing was spoken out loud.”


	35. Chapter 35

“I sure hope you know how to hold still.” Hoskins leered at Veddah.

“And this is the new model, that’s made on Trego and not one of those cheap fakes that pop up all over the place?” Laura held a diminutive remote control that fit into the palm of her hand.

“Got it straight from the source. It’s authentic.” The doctor waved her off, picked up the insertion module, and threaded the long, large-gauge, flexible needle between Vedda’s scalp and skull. He forced the needle to crawl, looking worm-like, from the junction of the coronal and sagittal skull sutures to a specific location in the Vulcan’s temple. Hoskins depressed the plunger and deposited the Sentinel. “I’ve never gotten used to this color, blood should have hemoglobin in it, not whatever this shit is.”

While Hoskins removed the needle and healed the entry wound, Laura explained the foreign body settled right over that relatively weak part of his skull. “You’re coming with me to Vitell’s. You’ve also just had a Sentinel slave beacon installed, and I’ve got the buttons. Try anything, and I can hit this little thing right here, and you’ll be immobilized. Get too determined to escape or maim me while we’re down there, this button right here, it releases a fast-acting poison that will leave you dead before you hit the floor. Think you can just flat-out kill me? This is also a dead man’s switch, poison, and you’re gone.”

“All yours, Captain.”

“Very good.” Alone in the cell with Veddah, Laura gave a quick visual inspection of her prisoner and was satisfied that his outward appearance did not follow in the pattern of the mental torture of his rape and incarceration. “You and I are going to pretend like we’re married.”

That drew a look. “We’re a happy couple, and we just _love_ collecting antiques. I’m going to bring you something to wear, and we’ll be off in short order.”

  
  
  
Captain Kirk had to stop reading Tralnor’s preliminary report. The experience of watching the hyper-empath in action was still too raw for him to actually digest. The postmortems were coming in as well. He could skim those, with their straight medical and scientific jargon, they were more impersonal, far less painful than what was actually in their heads when they were destroyed.

The one section of Tralnor’s he could read, did read several times, was the chunk of prose dealing with the products of Laura’s mind. _Touching hate_. He imparted that Hillyard remained perfectly clear-headed throughout the entire battle with Seren, the off-loading of the Starfleet ship and its destruction, and the individual murders. She’d experienced, as Tralnor termed it, child-like awe, that she got to put her Walther-P38 to use in exactly the same style as the monsters who’d taken to Eastern Europe during World War II. There was not an iota of remorse. The death of Lt. Commander Kathryn Avilla was particularly satisfying. The pregnant officer had something Laura, as hard as she’d tried, could never have: a baby on the way. She saw Captain Franklin as a spineless waste of space and delighted that she could grind his nose into the proverbial carpet.

As for the diamonds and their use, Tralnor barely got anything, Laura was so focused on her killing spree. He had no idea where the big rocks were going beyond Sweetness’ cargo holds.

Forty-one lives gone in under an hour.

“Captain, if we are to make it to the ceremony on time, we must leave now.” Spock said.

Kirk turned the bridge over to a junior officer and followed Spock onto the turbolift. And the awkward silence. . .

Cargo Bay 6 was the smallest on the ship and was the ideal place for a makeshift morgue. The significantly lowered temperature helped preserve the bodies, where even though they were done being autopsied, they were all still physical evidence, and as such could not be buried at “sea” or shipped home.

Kuznetsov and Cosgriff huddled in a corner. The Irishman asked Kirk his opinion of Tralnor’s report and commented, “That poor son of a bitch, I can’t imagine living someone else’s murder in my mind, let alone what he did.”

“It’s a powerful piece of writing.” Kirk said, skirting the issue.

Dr. McCoy and Dr. Abbott arrived. “Now, Jim, I was just telling my good man Abbot here about the time that Dremendian countess thought she’d won you in an auction. . .”

“Doctor, I would suggest that now is not the appropriate time nor place for comedic stories.” Spock said.

McCoy shut up and looked out on the forest of cots bearing the remains of the dead.

“What exactly are we doing here, Captain Kirk?” Commander Cosgriff wanted to know.

“It’s a little something our Lt. Commander Sha’leyen does in extreme situations like this.” Kirk could see that Abbott and Cosgriff weren’t sure what to think. “A ceremony to anoint and sanctify the departed.”

Sha’leyen arrived within the minute in full regalia. Seeing her dressed that way made Kirk uneasy because in his mind, her fancy, formal robes were forever connected to events like this. The one time he knew of that she went all out that didn’t involve looking after the dead was when Spock’s parents came aboard for their trip to Babel.

Coming in behind the bioarchaeologist, Sarah David, wearing one of Sha’leyen’s more casual robes. Sarah was followed by engineer, Alton Avery, also wearing something borrowed from the Lt. Commander. The last of her helpers entered the bay. Lt. Seltun was clad in a dark grey meditation robe that brought out the color of his eyes.

“ _What the ever-loving fuck is this shit_?” Dr. Abbott grumbled.

“Jason, don’t start.” Kuznetsov warned.

“I smell coffee.” Cosgriff didn’t understand how that was possible.

“Pudor-tor teviklar.” Sha’leyen’s voice conveyed solemnity. “Aifa paki-ha’kivlar, etwel kakhartau bi’tevahk-yut.”

“The Honored Dead.” Lt. Avery recited. “These Lost Lives, we shepherd along the Path of Dying.”

The three lieutenants each carried a stainless steel soup tureen from the ship’s kitchens. One held whole coffee beans from earth. The second had demerara sugar from Solana IV. Number three contained a millet-like grain native to the Oberon System.

Dr. Abbott squirmed like he might pop off and say something rude again until a harsh glare from Kuznetsov settled him down. Kirk half-watched Spock as Sha’leyen performed the simple rites. His Vulcan wasn’t easy to read today, utterly separate from Enterprise’s human captain.

Sha’leyen and her acolytes stopped at each of the bodies where she said something respectful about that individual person as they had been in life, having tapped into the detailed information Tralnor put out. Then the four of them would say, in Vulcan, _We mourn for you_. Words done, Sha’leyen placed a small handful of that person’s home planet on their chests, giving them a “burial” as it were.

When they got to Lt. Commander Avilla, before she set down the coffee, Sha’leyen pulled something metal from a pocket hidden in the voluminous folds of her robes. Kirk didn’t recognize the object at first until she shook it. Mr. Scott had taken it upon himself to create a heartfelt gift for someone who hadn’t gotten a chance to be. The rattle went on Avilla’s abdomen and the earth over her heart.

When each person was consecrated, the ceremony ended with the four officiants standing at the front of the room for a final _We mourn for you_.

“Amen.” McCoy said softly.

  
  
  
Vitell’s Star was home to an asteroid belt made up of the remains of two planets that collided into one another millions of years ago. It had become a place that was known for rare materials mining. The one population center and transport hub was a hulking space station that was home to 1.2 million people. While the system itself wasn’t glamorous, mining paid well, and Vitell’s had something of a chi-chi reputation.

“Captain, C and C Sub-Unit Three is hailing.” Morgana said from her seat at the helm.

“Go ahead.” Laura said, situating herself. She hated it when the tower called, wanting to talk, instead of just issuing docking instructions. At least Vitell’s was a civilian/corporate entity that made Starfleet and other governments feel unwelcome.

“Merchant Vessel Abaculus II, Captained by Raisa Pichushkin, welcome to Vitell’s Star. Are you here on business or is this a leisure visit?” The thirty-something man was going through a script.

“Thank you, C and C. While my crew will be staying aboard, my husband and I are disembarking so we can indulge in a little retail therapy. We’ve heard some of the best items come through the antiques markets here.” She was a good actor, never coming off as fake or trying too hard.

“We welcome you, Captain Pichushkin.” Call over, docking instructions issued, Laura told Silvio to hold down the fort. She warned the bridge that if anyone got in trouble while she was gone, there would be hell to pay.

“Don’t forget that I have the buttons.” Laura said to Veddah when they stepped off the shuttle from Sweetness’ berth at Sub-Station Four. “Let’s go check in at our hotel before we start working our way through the shops and vendors.”

“Hotel?” The first word out of Veddah’s mouth in hours.

“Unless we find this thing today, which I doubt, we’re still going to have to do some big-time schmoozing to get our hands on it if it’s here. We’re staying for a few days. I don’t want to commute back and forth from the ship. Besides, if we’re going to have the money to splash around on near-priceless antiquities, we need to act like it.” She’d dressed them both in lavish clothes, done her hair and makeup in an elaborate manner, and put on the kinds of gaudy jewelry that made her gag inside. Arik showered her in precious metals and jewels, trying to buy her off instead of having a relationship with her.

She looked at the wedding set he’d gotten for her, eight carats of diamonds set in platinum, when all she’d wanted was a plain silver band. Arik’s ring, now on Veddah’s finger, also platinum, had four carats of diamonds set in two channels. So fucking ugly, just like her husband.

Their luggage arrived ahead of them, so they went straight to their suite once they got the key. Laura flung open the door and made a running start for the bed, which she leapt into, sending pillows and individually wrapped chocolates flying. “Oh yeah, this beats the hell out of any built-in on a starship.”

Veddah stayed back while she bounced and laughed like a kid. After performing a quilt-top snow angel, Laura sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Veddah, which side do you prefer?”

 _Side of what_? He blinked at her.

“Of the bed?” She let out another little laugh. “You can’t sleep on the couch or on the floor. People have to believe we are in good with one another. It’s all part of the act.”

Possibly afraid she might zap him if he failed to answer, he opted for the left.

“Ugh, that ring. What an eyesore.” She pointed at his hand. “I probably should have had it chucked in Arik’s casket, but something told me to hold onto it. May that piece of shit roast in hell for all eternity.”

This was one of those times she liked that Veddah was a Vulcan. A human would have started peppering her with intrusive questions, wanting to figure out why she turned her husband into stew meat. Veddah didn’t want to know and didn’t care.

“Let’s go spend some money.”

  
  
  
Emerging after two days of sequestration from the crew to allow for his head to settle left Tralnor feeling out of touch with his new Starfleet life. He’d spent those forty-eight hours sleeping, meditating, and writing. Writing was the most helpful of those activities in letting the dead find peace in his mind.

The more Seren’s crew were reduced down into data: age, sex, gender, date of birth, date of death, interval from penetrating head trauma to death, and so on, the more the numbers assuaged his trauma. His brain craved the order mathematics gave to mass murder.

He found his way to Rec Room 2 without thinking. He’d meant for his destination to be sick bay, so Dr. McCoy could clear him to go back to work. Tralnor let his subconscious dictate his movements and very quickly found the rosin for his bow.

Music, a combination of math and physics, fractions and trigonometry, simple counting and numerical intervals, patterns, sequences, _logic_. Plucking and working the fine tuners on the frog, he utilized sine to adjust the wavelengths of sound, so they were in tune with one another. He drew his bow across the strings. Music, pure escapism, manipulative, catalyst for movement and ideas, expression of that which words cannot convey, salvation for the weary soul, _emotion_.

He closed his eyes and played.

  
  
  
Laura recognized the disdainful looks she got from some people. How dare such a prime specimen of human beauty associate with, let alone marry, a Vulcan. One shop, she and Veddah were chased out by the proprietor who didn’t want aliens of any sort patronizing his business.

When they wandered into Supernova Antiques and Curiosities, Ltd., the place was little more than piles of clutter haphazardly plopped on tables and shoveled into overcrowded displays. Laura went through their schpiel when the owner came to see if she could be of service.

“It sounds like you and your husband have a unique taste.” She pulled a cardigan off the back of a chair and put it on. “I rarely get anything from Vulcan, probably only five or six pieces in the twenty years I’ve been doing this. Let’s go see what I’ve got.”

“Yes, let’s.” Laura took Veddah by the hand and plunged headlong into the dumping ground.

She insisted on touching him, continuing her devastating violation of everything he was. Veddah knew on a higher level that these glances and blows were only part of an overall presentation, the veneer of a man and wife. Each puncture her consciousness made into his thoughts, the more complete picture he built of her.

He’d made a mistake, thinking her just a passion-driven human, entirely subject to the whims of her feelings. Laura Hillyard’s mind, her thoughts, her whole philosophy on life, her xenophobic beliefs, it was all meticulously organized and supported by an intelligence that was merely a waste when used this way.

Over the last few days, he’d asked himself if he wanted to survive this imprisonment? The answer vacillated. While suicide was illogical, in the immediate aftermath of the rape, shock and shame claimed to prefer death. As he’d regained some of his controls, his thoughts contained more reason and additional insight into the situation, and he decided he was not setting off on the Path of Dying, not yet.

“Husband, look, isn’t that just delightful?” Another pat on the hand. Another reminder that she had no compunction in killing him right here, right now. What happened when he truly was no longer of any use to her? He’d probably meet his fate in Dr. Hoskins’ bed, her holding him down as promised.

What could he do to ensure his perseverance? Physical aggression was out. That thing placed up against his sphenoid put an end to that. Short of holding out for a miracle rescue by the Federation, he could continue to ingratiate himself further, perhaps trigger some kind of reverse-Stockholm Syndrome? However, that scenario was unlikely at best.

Laura smiled at him. If she’d been a member of Seren’s crew, he might have surmised genuine joy or amusement on her behalf. He looked at her face and the falsehoods it spread at that moment.

A solution began to form in Veddah’s mind.


	36. Chapter 36

The captains of Enterprise and Dragon decided to travel to Starbase 21 in tandem. It was faster for both ships to make the journey than wait for the 3rd Mortuary Company to make a wide loop out to the Melbek System. Plus, as Lt. Commander Sha’leyen pointed out, using the 3rd Mortuary meant adding another link in the chain of evidence, a detail a team of defense attorneys bankrolled by a bottomless treasure trove of diamonds could turn into the one fact that creates a mistrial at best or an acquittal at worst.

“Where do you think she is?” Kirk said into Kuznetsov’s hair. She’d placed her head on his chest. He looked down, appreciating her curves, inwardly wincing at the blotches and bruises he’d put on her.

“Hiding out, sharpening her knives.” Kuznetsov let her fingers seek out first the nipple she wasn’t covering with her cheek, and following a gentle tweak, she sent her hand downward.

“ _Mmmmm_.” His cock answered her ministrations. “Tell me something, Captain?”

“Anything, Captain.”

“Who am I when it's tame and tender and we’re not mercilessly fucking our anger and loneliness away?” Kuznetsov mounted him and started on a gentle undulation of her hips. “For me, you are the man I loved and lost, my dearly departed husband, Andrei.”

Arching into her, he said, “Commander Spock.”

  
  
  
After visiting the first dozen or so shops and stalls out of nearly two hundred of the damned things, Laura was irritated. The clerks and proprietors who’d been circumspect, like they might actually have something worth looking at, only wanted to steer their attention to entirely unrelated rubbish that just so happened to have a handsome markup.

Pre-Reform Vulcan antiquities were not the same as gauche Hoblian swirl-pottery that was vintage at its oldest, if not just a couple of years old that someone threw away because they were sick of it. After the third asshole said, “I know it’s not quite what you had in mind, but isn’t it beautiful,” she needed a break.

At a bar called Romeo’s, she ordered a Tom Collins. Veddah got laughed at for requesting herbal tea. Laura had the waitress bring him some non-alcoholic sparkling cider.

“What are you interested in for dinner?” She thought they needed to talk about something, keep bolstering the charade. “They’ve got damned near everything here. All I ask is that you don’t say sushi because where the fuck are you going to find fresh fish out here?”

“I do not eat fish.” He said.

“So I don’t have to worry about that.” Her drink arrived and she tried it. “This seltzer is from the well, so it tastes like everything else that runs through the gun, including mold and cockroaches. I specifically requested bottled seltzer and will pay for a whole two-liters, at hyper-inflated retail price, if it means I can have a single drink that doesn’t have the flavor profile of a warehouse floor after a rave.”

The waitress huffed, snatched back the glass, and stomped off.

“Don’t let me catch you or the bar-back spitting in it. You won’t like what I can do to you.” She barked after the little twit. Romeo’s was owned by a member of the AVDL, and would not take kindly to one of the organization’s royalty being maltreated. “Now, my husband, where to eat?”

“I saw that there is a Moretian establishment down one story.” Veddah sounded and looked natural to someone who didn’t know better. Vitell’s didn’t see many Vulcans, so he seemed pretty normal for their expectations.

“ _Vegetarian_.” She said.

“Yes, but I understand if you want to veto my suggestion.” He was broken, and she’d done it to him.

“My mom used to take me to a Moretian cafe near the main VSA campus.” And as much as she hated it at the time, she had some fondness of those evenings with her mother, splitting an order of fire-roasted peppers stuffed with something similar to kasha. “I’d meet her there. She’d come straight from her genetics lab, and we’d always get the spiced rum cake for dessert.”

She’d not seen or spoken to her mother since the morning of the day she fled Vulcan. Laura figured Tatyana was getting on just fine without her. It must have been ten years ago now that she’d seen Dear Old Mom’s wedding announcement. Laura’s stepfather, Sovon, whom she’d never met, was a biochemist or something of that ilk.

“I know the place of which you speak. The rum cake is very good.” A timid sip of cider left him wrinkling his nose from the bubbles.

“Okay, it’s decided. Moretian it is.” She smiled as a gesture of goodwill, and she saw just how much he didn’t trust her. That was for the best she supposed.

“Your drink.” A fresh Tom Collins, and the new bottle of seltzer it was mixed with arrived at the table. Laura never so much as took a sip.

  
  
  
Candles and fresh-cut flowers on the tables, real linens, live string quartet, wine steward, this was Veddah’s first experience with fine dining. He followed Laura’s cues since this sort of establishment was familiar to her. She was pleasant to the staff, loquacious with the wine steward, but not flirty. She was someone who’d earned her status on the merits of her own hard work, not by using sex in-kind like so many humans Veddah had been exposed to.

He watched how the people around them responded to her. They wanted to please her, ingratiated themselves, tried to draw her attention. What was so compelling about her? Her crew did more than obey her because she was the captain. What was there that engendered such empathy with a person who possessed so little of her own?

“The spring pickles sound good.” She said over the top of her menu. “Do you want to share that as an appetizer?”

“Yes, I would have chosen the spring pickles as well.” She appeared so average in accordance to his experiences with the people he’d served with. Laura lacked the impulsivity, the mercurial swings in mood, the unreasonable adherence to beliefs “just because” he was used to. Yet, she retained a form of emotional expression that made her seem far more stereotypical than she was.

Her hand sought out his, and he let her have him, thankful for a warning to prepare himself. Shields up as well as he could brace them in his deteriorated mental state, he focused on the feeling of her soft, cool skin, rather than the fastidious organization of her mind.

“Don’t look now, but there’s a loudmouth and his date who’ve taken huge offense at you and I being here together.” She said. “They’re going to try to find excuses to come over here and say nasty things under their breath. Those are exactly the kind of people I don’t allow into my organization. If you can’t behave in public, how can I trust you to act honorably in any way?”

He shook loose of her grasp and offered her his index and middle fingers. She sent a side-long glance at the scornful couple and let a sly smile draw the corners of her mouth. “Oh, you naughty boy.”

They kissed. . . And that’s where he found it, buried deep, her esteem for another person, so rarely granted, was like a bright white light of uplifting praise that set off a cascade of endorphins. He closed his eyes against the surge of pleasure and so Laura didn’t have to see his befuddlement that she seemed to like him as a person.

“Wow.” Laura pulled her fingers back. “What was that?”

He looked at his hand not entirely sure what had happened between them, this being his first experience with the ozh'esta. “I do not know.”

“Have you decided?” The waiter broke the spell of the moment. “Ma’am?”

“We’re going to start with the spring pickles, then I’d like the pre tarmeeli, but can you have chef serve it over a bed of cream noodles instead of the hot yellow chili rice?”

“As it is supposed to be served.” The waiter said, knowingly. “People here like to think they’re sophisticated when in all honesty, they are just rich hicks. You’re the first human I’ve encountered who both understands that pre tarmeeli is a Vulcan specialty and that it’s not supposed to taste like an Indian curry. It should be spicy, cream noodles taking the edge off, not leaving your nose and eyes running from the heat.”

“Well, I’m happy to have made your evening.” She laughed. “And as the side, is it possible to trade out the steamed vegetable for—”

“It’s not on the menu, but chef will be quite pleased to whip up the herbed legumes with sash-savas vinaigrette.” So satisfied as to have customers who knew what they were doing, the waiter smiled back at her. “And for you, sir?”

“The crispy pan-fried farsoafi.” Veddah remembered that Moretian dish being good at the cafe Laura talked about earlier. “I too would like the bean salad as the side.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Alone again, Laura said, “Before you ask, I always liked the food on Vulcan. It never tried to lord it’s supposedly superior intellect over me or chew me out because I laughed at something. Imagine, pre tarmeeli with super-spicy rice, and naan bread. There are more pillocks on this station than I thought.”

  
  
  
Round robin, reports were presented to a group consisting of the command teams, CMOs, security chiefs, Dr. Tralnor, and Lt. Commander Sha’leyen. They showed what they hoped were their own final reports to one another and listened to what geology, dendrology, legal, metallurgy, and others had to say before all of this was combined into a massive omnibus volume bound for the brass back in San Francisco.

Lt. Commander Sha’leyen would have final say on the compilation as shown to Command. As the resident expert on mass graves, she was the logical choice to sign off on the whole thing. She’d have the entire report put together before they made port at Starbase 21.

“Legal, what is your advice in dealing with our grave robbers?” Kirk asked. He wanted them off his ship as fast as fucking possible. They were not only bad for morale, if they stuck around much longer, a lynch mob might break out, and that was just amongst his crew. Kuznetsov’s people wanted to keel haul them, but only after making them run the gauntlet.

Commander Serj Blaedel and his deputy, Lieutenant Carolina Dresden, turned to one another and engaged in a round of archetypal lawyer-whispering. Blaedel came up for air first. “We’re having them transferred to the criminal lock-down facility on Starbase 21. I’ve had Dresden draft the charges. On your okay, Captain Kirk, we can have the indictment sent ahead, and the courts will be ready to process Crewman Cash, Crewman Hawkins, and Ensign Radovitch before we even arrive.”

“Does that meet the Captain’s approval?” Kirk asked Kuznetsov.

“Affirmative.” She said. “Commander Spock, Commander Cosgriff?”

“Works for me.” The Irishman nodded.

“Myself as well.” Spock agreed.

Kirk consulted the agenda he’d created for this long, involved meeting. “Security Chiefs?”

“Throw the fucking book at them.” Dragon’s Chief Carter said.

“I still can’t believe they were mine. . .” Enterprise’s man stared down at his hands.

“Last words from anyone?” Kirk asked the group. “No? You’re all dismissed.”

Most of those in attendance flocked to the back of the room where catering had set out coffee and other refreshments. Kirk thought he might escape to his office when Bones zeroed in on him.

“Does this mean after we’re done off-loading those ghouls that we’ve got to stick around Starbase 21 for an eternity? Are they going to expect us to sit while someone else rounds this bitch up and drags her back for a trial?” McCoy was itching to find Hillyard.

“We’ll only be around for the expedited court-martial. You, Sha’leyen, and Lt. Seltun have to testify, but that shouldn’t take long.” Kirk promised his crew they’d nail MV Sweetness to the wall. He’d be loathed to take that chance away from them.

The doctor lowered his voice. “Is your girlfriend coming with us?”

Spock, on approach from a quick conversation with Dr. Abbott, stopped when he heard McCoy. Kirk looked at his first officer an implored him not to leave. “Bones?”

“You know, that hot little Russian number who just so happens to be of the same rank and not part of your chain of command? The same one who seems to spend an awful lot of time in your quarters at night?”

“Now isn’t the best time.” Was all the captain could say, but by then, Spock had walked off.

  
  
  
The mood in Sha’leyen’s office was funereal. Mollie almost didn’t want to speak. She got a quick recap of the Enterprise’s last few days and had to sit down. If she didn’t know Laura like she did, she'd say it wasn’t possible, but she knew better.

“Where are you, Mollie?” Spock asked.

She was using the secure comm channel via the link on the vanity in Lianna’s guest room. “I’m in Paris, getting ready for some fancy formal gala-thing that President Cullen is going to be at.”

Wearing an evening gown of obvious Deltan design, something Mollie would never have chosen, would have him wondering what the hell she was up to. “Ambassador Lianna has loaned me—”

“I never understand this about Vulcans. Why do you have such a compulsion to be ‘on-time’ for everything?” The Ambassador mowed into the room. “Me? _I like to be fashionably late_! Much more fun. Stand, my dear.”

Mollie complied, and Lianna started to paint a design, in shimmering gold, that went from the sternoclavicular notch out to her shoulder as a balance to the off-the-shoulder dress.

“So, I tell Sarek that it takes time to make us pretty and that he needs to chill his feet, as the humans say.” She grinned and laughed. “I do not think he appreciates how much easier it is for boys to clean up nice. What, they drag a comb through their hair, if they have any, and put on a suit, simple.”

Lianna brushed a horizontal stripe across Mollie’s right cheek. “Mollie knows this, your pretty Starfleet friend,” Lianna waved to the Enterprise crew, “she knows this. If you are to surround yourself with beauty, you must be patient.”

The final touch, Mollie was presented with an opulent headband that nearly didn’t stretch over her up-do. “There you are, my dear. Now I leave you to say goodbye to your friends and boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Mollie didn’t even finish the sentence before the laughter had Lianna practically doubled over.

“She says this.” Lianna addressed them. “When ten years from now you are married to him with,” the Deltan placed her hand on Mollie’s abdomen, “your third child on the way. Goodnight friends. Goodnight not- boyfriend. Mollie, I’ll see you downstairs.”

“ _Only three_?” Her brother teased. “You and Spock are good for five, at least.”

“ _Shut up, Tralnor_.” Mollie shook her head. She didn’t want to think about what she knew of Deltan clairvoyance and hoped beyond hope that Lianna was simply getting a rise out of her. “ _Don’t be such a fungus_.”

“Tonight, this is when you get your meeting with the President? Lianna has put this together?” Sha’leyen asked.

“Before Ambassador Hurricane came blowing in here, I was going to tell you that we’ve already had our meeting. Our Kennuk is go.” She was ready to sign off. “We also need to set up a meeting with Sohja and Joe. They’re going to have to be our point of contact with Sarek and T’Lal once we leave the ship.”

“Shit.” Tralnor said. “I’ll get on the horn to them when we’re done here.”

“They’ll come through for us.” Mollie reassured.

Tralnor paused before saying, “That’s not what I’m worried about.”


	37. Chapter 37

Two off-duty cops who’d come to the Moretian restaurant for their wedding anniversary had to drag off the aggressive xenophobe couple. The woman threw a glass of red wine in Laura’s face while calling her an alien-fucking whore, while the man shouted across the dining room about how people like her were going to burn at the stake but only after being forced to watch as her husband was raped and murdered for daring to touch her.

Rum cake and her clothes ruined, the manager arrived to start sucking up to Captain Pichushkin and her husband. Meal comped, profuse apologies, and a personal escort to an haute couture boutique for a new outfit, it took almost an hour before she could send a message to Silvio: _Attacked at dinner by a couple of racist pricks. Booked at central precinct. Take care of them_.

She approached the racks of clothes like Arik would have and chose only the most pretentious labels and styles. The restaurant manager offered to get the things she’d come in wearing sent off to the cleaners. Laura vetoed that. There was a certain satisfaction that came with watching an outfit that cost more than the average person made in a month going down the incinerator chute. She hated crap like this and the people who insisted on wearing it.

Manager finally satisfied that neither of the characters she and Veddah played was going to sue over this incident, the couple was left to their own devices.

“Let’s walk back to the hotel.” Laura put her arm through Veddah’s, and they went off down the concourse of glitzy storefronts.

“ _Look-look-look_!” Like the burst of enthusiasm for jumping on the bed, Laura took off for a window display that captured her imagination. “They’re making truffles.”

The thick scent of the confectionery clouded Veddah’s senses as she hauled him into the shop. Sweets of more kinds than he could ever identify filled jars, domes, and display cases. She bounded from delight to delight, in no way acting a part.

“Oh, I don’t know what I want.” She pointed at a tray of something called a mulled honey truffle, then to a slab of pink peppermint fudge. “It all looks so amazing.”

“What is your favorite?” He had no way of helping her make a choice.

“It’s hard to say. Whatever I pick right now, ask the same question in the morning, I’ll probably have a different answer.” Bonbons, coconut patties, chocolate-dipped tree nuts, she vacillated. “What about you? What’s yours?”

“I do not have one.” He tried to stay in character, but she knew what he’d really said: _I have never eaten chocolate before_.

Some of the zeal fell from her expression, replaced with a thoughtful seriousness. “Then we’ve got to make this special.”

“Special?” She took his hand and the way their fingers touched, her brightness came to him, bearing wordless intentions of indemnity. . .

Laura made an assorted selection of candies. By the time she paid and they set off once more for their room, the deeper connotations of ‘make this special’ came to Veddah. What he’d previously assumed was lip-service designed to make him come round faster from the torment of rape, what she said she wished she hadn’t had to do, the sentiment she expressed, that wasn’t made up.

To borrow a phrase from his crewmates, what the fuck was going on?

  
  
  
Neutral territory, that’s where they’d chosen to meet. Spock arrived first, as he expected he would. Engineering’s Auxiliary Meeting Room was isolated and a place neither of them had spent any significant amount of time. Mostly, the space was a hideaway for spare parts and engineers looking for a little rack time when putting in grueling double and triple shifts.

“This is off the beaten path.” Jim said when he stepped into the neglected room.

Spock indicated they should sit down. Of the two chairs parked at the canted table, he managed to choose the one where only three of the four feet touched the ground at the same time. Jim, almost timid in his movements, wanting to make absolutely certain he didn’t screw things up again, claimed the other chair, but kept his eyes tightly focused on some point between the table and the floor.

“I kind of feel like we need a password or a secret handshake or something. This place is like a tree fort.” The captain might not have been addressing his first officer right then. He was in a liminal state, not sure if he was in or out of Spock’s life.

“Prior to you, Jim, I only had one friend who served with me here, on the Enterprise. Ensign Paulette Gordon has been dead for fifteen years.”

“Paulette?” _Another girlfriend, Spock_? That thought, lobbed like a shot-put, stung.

“I met her while filming _Celluloid Vokaya_. She was an ROTC cadet at the University of Southern California. As junior officers, we shared lab space and did some combined research. She once told me that she thought she could be attracted to me if only I were female.”

Kirk was buoyed at learning Paulette was gay and therefore not a notch on Spock’s proverbial bedpost. Now, the human raised his visual horizon.

“Ambushed by pirates, Captain Pike called general quarters. Paulette’s assignment was close to the hull, where the histopathology lab used to be. The attackers fired modified torpedoes packed with shrapnel. Our shields phased and a torpedo exploded, hurling grape-shot and broken glass through the hole it punched into the ship’s skin. If a high-velocity shard of glass had not ruptured her aorta, she would have survived.

“Her death, more so than any other aspect of living and working with humans, made me hesitant to form friendships with others I served with. I did not want to get close with anyone. Then you came, Jim.” He wanted those hazel eyes to regard him with affection again, willed the captain to engage him.

“You sure weren’t looking for a friend then either.” Kirk grumbled.

“I was not.”

“So, what changed?”

“My perception of you, of friendship.” Now was the right time to take Jim by the hand and show him that transition, but the human kept his hands firmly planted in his lap, table between them. “I have had some fortune in life, finding a handful of friends who are not concerned about my genetics or lack of emotionality. You are one of those rare individuals.”

“I see.”

“You are loyal, strong, thoughtful, the kind of friend everyone deserves but rarely finds.” Spock’s intention for this meeting was drawing Jim out of his self-imposed exile. It hadn’t worked, yet. “You hacked your way through my defenses and showed me that I do not have to be alone here. I do not want to be alone.”

No good at the art of dropping subtle hints, Spock didn’t know how to keep Jim involved in this conversation.

“But you’re not alone, Spock, not really, not the way you’re talking.” The human returned to staring at his hands. “You’ve got Mollie, right there, in your head, all the time. That’s not alone.”

“Jim?”

“Look, Spock, I think I get what you’re trying to say, and I’m touched, I am.” He refused to look up. “I think it might be a good idea to only hang out with one another in public venues with other people around. Better for both of us.”

“I am not bonded to Mollie. She and I are not getting married. We are not romantically involved.” _You are the one I want in that way, Jim, but only if you want me_.

Jim gave a sad smile. “You don’t have to hide her from me, Spock. I’m a big boy, I can take it, I promise.”

“Mollie and I are long-time friends and professional colleagues who just so happen to fuck sometimes.”

“ _What did you say_?” Eye-contact!

“Her words, not mine.” Spock said. “But, they are the truth.”

“Then you’re shortchanging yourselves.” He was not listening! “You’re a beautiful couple and highly compatible. Reducing that down to just being fuck-buddies is harsh and wasteful. Admit it, you’re in love with one another. Go get hitched, and never worry about your seven-year-itch again.”

“We do love one another, but not in the manner you imply.” Could he explain? “The colloquialism, fuck-buddies, is too vulgar, and describing Mollie and I as lovers ascribes qualities to our relationship that are not there.”

“ _So, you have sex because_?” Jim’s lack of comprehension was a quagmire.

“It started as teenage curiosity. We wanted to experience intercourse, and in one another, we found safe partners.” He didn’t want to get into how they also used their lovemaking sessions back then as a gateway to deepening the melds they used to broaden their psionic abilities. “She and I have stayed safe partners, carrying this component of our relationship forward. Curiosity has long since given way to condoling and allaying life’s stressors, acceding comfort and solace.”

“Only you, Spock.” Jim was bewildered, not comprehending what he’d been told. “Only you could have a _sexual relationship_ with someone, describe them as _safe_ , then talk about sex itself as granting _solace._ ”

“It is an accurate remark.”

Jim got up. “I appreciate you trying to explain things. My—”

“James Tiberius Kirk, I am in lov—”

“No, Spock.” The captain shook his head. “You’re confusing friendship with me for what you and Mollie actually have.”

“Please, Jim, do not go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, on the bridge.” The door opened, and the captain was gone.

  
  
  
“ _You’re a fucking idiot_!” Dr. McCoy thought about hurling the hi-ball glass at Kirk rather than pouring a drink into it. “ _An absolute dumbass_!”

“Don’t you think its better this way?” Jim said, an almost artificial calm coated his voice.

“No, no I don’t. A person doesn’t spend all that time going into detail about how they are not passionate with someone if they don’t want you to appreciate what that means. He and Mollie are very close friends, nothing more.”

The captain was going to make the doctor claw his own eyes out. “It’s just sex, Jim. That’s all.”

“It doesn’t seem right that anything for him is just sex.” Kirk finally deemed it okay to give the whiskey a good sniff before sucking half of it down. Overton hadn’t had a great selection, but this would do.

McCoy smacked his palm to his forehead. “Kuznetsov, just sex?”

“Bones, don’t.”

“Valerie Kramer?”

“Enough.”

“Nial Dumfries?”

“Fuck off, Bones.” Kirk shuddered.

“So what if Spock gets laid every once in a while? He’s allowed! Who gives a rat’s ass that he’s still banging the chick he took to prom? Why do you give a shit? Why are you projecting this ridiculous madonna/whore complex onto him? Do you know how fucking hypocritical that is coming from you?” McCoy pointed at Kirk and just about got growled at. “He’s just come out and said that he’s in love with you.”

“No, he didn’t.” The captain countered.

“You didn’t let him get all the words out you dumb bastard.” Vexed, the doctor swiveled his chair, so he didn’t have to keep looking at his boneheaded friend. “ _Stupid, stupid, stupid. . ._ ”

  
  
  
Joe’s aloha shirt for the day was an eye-watering orange with dashboard hula girls and conch shells. “Serious Vulcan is serious. What’s up, Shirley?”

“I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley.” Tralnor replied, getting a chuckle from Joe.

“No, really, you look like you just came from sitting shiva. Is something wrong out there?” Joe’s concern was disturbing. If Joe, of all the selfish dicks on earth, could see how stressed Tralnor still was, the Vulcan wasn’t fit for public consumption.

“That’s part of what we need to talk about. I need your help with something.”

“Let me switch on my handy-dandy signal modulator. I know things are encrypted on your end, but something tells me we can’t be too safe. Let’s hear it.”

“Have you ever heard of the AnthroVision Defense League?”

Joe’s eyes grew wide. “Hold on for a sec. I think I might need a martini before we start talking about those repugnant pukes.”

“Have one for me too.”

  
  
  
Laura handed the candies off to Veddah so she could make another running high-jump for the bed. Gleeful, that’s how she appeared and sounded with each bounce. One of those sent her springing up and once on her feet, she started stripping off the new clothes, stuffing them in a room-service laundry bag.

Veddah moved, his back hitting a wall.

“What is—Oh, I’m just getting my jammies on. I suggest you do the same. I packed some for you in the brown suitcase.” She unhooked her bra, and he screwed his eyes shut. “I’m not a modest person, so if you want to look, I don’t care.”

He took his whole case into the bathroom. Nothing in it was anything he’d choose to wear on his own accord. It was all costuming. Just like sharing a bed with her tonight was for show. He put on the sleepwear and did not want to leave the illusion of safety this space away from Laura offered. When he willed himself out, seeing her wearing something similar to what he had on was a relief.

Hair down, makeup removed, she stood in front of a dresser where she arranged the chocolates on a tray taken from somewhere in the sprawling accommodation. “Follow me over to the sofa.”

He did as told, where she put him against the arm, and she took the middle, wedging him into place. They’d been alone together all day, and she’d not done anything construed as sexual to him. He was still nervous.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Veddah.” She picked up a chocolate and took a bite. “Oh, yes. . . Pure bliss.”

He smelled a citrus component in with the sugar and what he figured was the distinctive odor of cacao.

“Creamy, bitter, smooth, sweet, orange, those are the bare basics of what this tastes like. Have you ever so much as wanted to try chocolate?” She popped the other part of the candy in her mouth.

“No. I had no desire to.”

“I think you’ll find that you like it.” She picked up an identical piece to what she’d eaten. “Open your mouth.”

It hit his tongue and immediately started to melt, coating his mouth and his senses. The five words she’d used in her meagre description did little to prepare him for this silken emulsion. Primal parts of his brain lit up. When his teeth broke through to the center and the acidic fruit component mixed in, an involuntary sound of approval escaped his throat.

“Good?” She smiled at him, and it was an expression that he could take at face value. Laura was happy to share this experience with him.

He swallowed. “Very much so.”

“This is an almond toffee, dipped in chocolate, then coated with finely chopped almonds.” She bit the oblong piece in half and fed him the other side. This one was crunchy, more savory, just as amazing, but in a different way.

She adjusted how she was sitting and unconsciously took his hand. He accepted the rush of her approval and used it as an access route to probe a little deeper into her mind. While he was subject to her empathy, her xenophobic ideals clouded her judgement. She may like him as an individual, apart from the rest of his species, but the vitriol she reserved specifically for Vulcans kept her from being at ease with her decision regarding Veddah as a person.

Laura ran a thumb over his knuckles, setting off a reaction in him he’d not thought possible. His breath hitched as once again his body betrayed his mind. His autonomic desire fed back to her, and she gasped.

“ _Veddah_?” She let go, stood up, and reclaimed said hand. “Only if its what you want.”

Yes! He wanted it. His body wanted the pleasure of release, and his higher brain thought he could use this encounter to further his chances of survival. “I want this.”

She guided him toward the bed where they sat on the edge. “This time, Veddah, I promise it will be beautiful.”


	38. Chapter 38

Mollie did not go back to her house when she returned from Paris. Sarek thought it safer for her to check into one of the high-rise hotels downtown. Like the concerned dad he was, he refused to let her out of his sight until she was set up in her room.

“I have asked the chief of security to look in on you periodically.”

“That’s a bit overly cautious, don’t you think?” She tossed her bags on the bed and sat down. The look she got from that man could have cut through steel.

“Are you forgetting that we are up against the same people who murdered your friends?”

“Not for a second.” She didn’t want to bicker with the Ambassador right now.

He accepted her answer. “I must step out. I will return for our meeting with Joe Bergman.”

“You be safe too, Sarek.”

Alone for the first time in days, the silence made her ears hiss. Thirty-seven stories above the City of Angels, she wished to hear the song of urban life, but the windows blocked the noise, plus they didn’t open. She watched as the last rays of sun dropped over the Pacific.

The whole of planet earth was still alien to her even though her ancestors crawled out of its oceans. She felt like a tourist on a world that was supposed to be her home. _Just passing through_. . . Every moment spent here, she was treading water, waiting to go back to her red desert.

“Why do I stay here?” She posed the question to Los Angeles. “Is it the memories of the good times, because I’m used to it here? My mom is here? I can’t say it’s the weather. You’re damp and cold and crowded, LA.”

Forehead against the glass, she stared down to the shopping plaza at ground level. “I love you as a place to visit. You were great for school. But, I need to go home. Let me go home.”

The city twinkled in the twilight.

Her “phone” started ringing, drawing her out of her state of contemplation. She answered without looking at who’d called. “Dr. Mallia Ah’dalevna MacCormack, speaking.”

Gasps and stifled sobs filled her ears and sank her heart. He could barely speak. “ _I tried. . . I tried, and he would not listen to me_.”

  
  
  
If given the choice of a single word to describe his state of mind, Jim Kirk would say he was gutted, and the only person to blame was the one who stared back at him in the mirror in the morning. He kept telling himself he’d done what was right, smothering embers before they caught fire. Spock deserved the best and nothing less. “Loving me is a one-way trip to an irreparably broken heart.”

  
  
  
Tralnor and Sha’leyen leaned into one another as they occupied the lumpy purple love seat. His head fit ever so well on her shoulder. He was thinking about how people mistook her for human. Her affect, skin tone, body temperature was different, she didn’t move like a human either. It wasn’t fair to dog those who didn’t peg her as a Belonite. Other than Vulcan, no one seemed to care that her planet and people existed. But not having pointed ears didn’t automatically prove she was from earth stock.

“Is Joe willing to act as our intermediary?” She nuzzled against his head.

“I had to persuade him not to come charging out here to try and help us in person. Sohja will be even harder to convince.”

“Because Vulcans are so stubborn?”

“You know it.” He could fall asleep like this and let his and Sha’leyen’s subconscious selves mingle with one another.

Her desk comm went off. “I should probably get that.”

“Neither of us are on duty right now.” He didn’t want to give up his pillow.

“Whoever it is knows I’m here.” She got over there and flipped the switch. “Lt. Commander Sha’leyen.”

“It’s Mollie, and we’re having something of an emergency.” She sounded shaken. “I’m not sure of the exact details of what set this off, but you need to find Spock, now.”

“We’ll get to him.” Tralnor moved in beside Sha’leyen. “Is this about what I think it is?”

“If I ever meet Jim Kirk, it will take all the strength I have not to throttle that man! Who the fuck does he think he is, treating my best friend like that? Does he even comprehend what it took for Spock to flay his feelings open like he did? No, I won’t just throttle him, I’ll knock his fat head right off his fucking shoulders.” Mollie grabbed onto the edges of the desk she was at and started drawing measured breaths, reciting something in her mind to rein herself in. “And this coming on the heels of all the crap you’ve been dealing with for the last week or so, everyone on Enterprise is fragile right now.”

“You don’t think he’s going to hurt himself, do you?” Tralnor had to ask. If that were the case, they’d be forced to get Dr. McCoy involved.

“I don’t think he’d ever consider self-harming. It’s too nonsensical. What he does need though is people on-hand to offer some support after your captain—Just go.” Mollie hated that she wasn’t there for Spock, that she was just a voice at the other end of the galaxy.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where he is? This is a big ship with nooks and crannies galore.” Tralnor hated seeing Mollie so pained and helpless.

“It looked like he was in his quarters.” His sister rubbed her eyes with the meaty parts of her palms. “And remind him that it’s not his fault the object of his affections is a _complete butt_.”

Sha’leyen said, “We need to stop by my quarters on the way. I have to get my ‘doctor’ bag.”

They made one additional detour, to the pharmacology lab where Sha’leyen did some side-research, before arriving at Spock’s cabin. Tralnor hit the buzzer. No answer. Two more times, nothing.

(Spock?) Tralnor hit on a volatile mind on the verge of collapse. He left the pathway open to receive a response.

(Go away!) Shame at being so hopeful that someone like Jim Kirk might feel the same way. . . (Leave me.)

(Not until Sha’leyen and I come in and see that you’re okay.)

Self-reflected disgust at the emotions he’d allowed himself to experience for this person, to show this person. (You heard me, Tralnor.)

Tralnor put his hand over the part of the doorframe where the locking mechanism was housed. He’d have thought Starfleet might use something more sophisticated than this particular cheap industrial model. This was one of the series that his father had taught him to pop. The only thing that took it up to Starfleet security approval was how it interacted with the ship’s software. He slipped a tentacle of his mind in where the lock hardware physically connected to the computer network. He traced the network hardwire up about a third of a meter and psionically injected an open command.

“Lights, twenty percent.” Sha’leyen brought about just enough light for them to see.

“Mollie called us.” Tralnor slid down the wall to join Spock on the floor.

“I cause her a constant stream of needless grief.” Spock’s voice was hoarse. “She should not have to spend so much of her life looking after me. I am an abyss of need and emotion. I am greedy. I do nothing but take from her. . . The situation with Jim—”

Tralnor offered his hand, a crackle of static electricity discharged when they touched. Before reestablishing their communication link, he projected calm into Spock, somewhat disarming the science officer’s all-encompassing torment. (Show me, Spock.)

It came at Tralnor as a jumble of images and sensations. (Okay, let’s break things down into chronological order.)

For ten minutes, they went over the meeting in engineering, going through it six times, tearing it apart and reassembling it as an outline. (Again, only this time, we’re examining each heading and sub-heading where you’re going to add the label of what emotion you felt at each point.)

Spock’s mind threw up a barrier there. His Surakian training didn’t do things this way. Action and emotion were separated, said feelings were only to be referenced as examples of how not to react in similar situations in the future. Lyr Saan techniques understood action and emotion were interrelated, analyzed those feelings, and used them as reference markers for later decision making. Ultimately, in both disciplines, eventual repeats of actions and the feelings they solicited, the resultant emotions were supposed to be kept to oneself.

(You experienced frustration/anger/panic when you realized Jim was not listening to you. Is that how you feel when someone else isn’t listening or is it just him? Is that how you’re going to feel the next time you see him? If so, within what context are those emotions coming from, close physical proximity, or proximity and anxiety about discussing personal matters with him in the future? Is this set of emotions instead aimed at yourself because you don’t think you did a good enough job explaining your situation to him? Why were you feeling this way? What can you learn from it? How do you lessen the pain next time if there is a next time?) Tralnor wasn’t trying to push his ways on Spock, he just wanted to offer an alternate view, one that might keep him from stewing in such toxic headspace.

(I cannot do this.) Spock said.

(This is what I’ve been focusing on to get through the mass murder. Forty-one lives reduced to data and reports, the math of which undoubtedly kept me from a mental breakdown, but, I can’t leave things there. I have to tear apart my emotions dealing with the incident, or they will come back to haunt and hobble me. I’m learning exactly how I felt when and why. When I face a task like this again, I’ll know what to expect and can start tailoring my reactions immediately.)

( _I do not have the strength for such introspection, Tralnor._ )

“Rub this on your gums.” Sha’leyen handed Spock a small square of marble with a glossy orange substance on it. “You have TMJ from years of clenching your jaw to survive life amongst humans. This will help with the discomfort.”

(If Mollie thought you were greedy, she would never have gotten in touch with us. She thinks the world of you, Spock.) Tralnor decided to go after the traces of good to come out of Spock’s day.

(Without Jim, she is going to sacrifice herself to me. That is my greed at its worst, so insatiable that it will consume us both.)

(Spock, that’s nature. She understands the Fever. To her, going to you isn’t a sacrifice, its what you do for a friend.)

“This will take the edge off the pain. It pours out of you right now.” Sha’leyen exchanged the marble for a shot glass. “It’s what I gave Tralnor before we put him to sleep here in your quarters.”

( _Why will he not hear what I say_?) Spock tipped back the potion. ( _Why_?)

  
  
  
“You will show me what to do?” This needed to go right if his plan had any chance of succeeding.

She reached out and let the backs of her fingers graze his cheek. “I will.”

He let her sexual attraction fuel his own, and the tightness in his underpants became increasingly uncomfortable. She put her other hand on the back of his neck, tilted his head down, and pulled him into a human kiss. She tasted like chocolate.

 _How can I do this without hurting him or setting off a PTSD bomb_? _He doesn’t know enough to take the lead_. “Tell me if you don’t want me to do something.”

“I will.” A shiver of something he didn’t recognize tingled through his body. She ran her hands over his upper half, then slipped them beneath his shirt and repeated the pattern. He moaned, but not like last time.

Another kiss, mouths locked, her hands went to the sides of Veddah’s face. She wanted him to enjoy this. _Be careful_ , she reminded herself. _Don’t go too fast_.

He let her thoughts trickle into his, they stoked one another’s desire. Foothold in her mind, Veddah started to let his guard down. He touched her of his own acquiescence, following the example she set, exploring her upper body, giving in to new sensations.

She shed her shirt and helped him out of his, skin on skin, a trail of kisses down his neck. “Let’s get you out of these.”

She hooked her fingers in his waistband. _I didn’t actually see it last time_. “Can I touch it?”

He involuntarily tensed up and decided the way to do this was by placing her hand there, making it his move. In the suite’s good lighting, he saw everything she did, so there was no guessing that she might physically harm him in the dark. Her pinkish hand, gently stroking him from base to glans, was a stark contrast to the heavy green of his erection.

 _Good, he likes that_. She gazed into his eyes. . . seeking _his approval_.

The hand not occupied went to his right ear, creating a trail of, he didn’t have words for it. More kisses, tongues mingling, she set off a scintillating blaze in his nervous system, a delicious warmth that spread from center mass to the very tips of his ears.

She let go of him to free her lower body of the rest of her clothing, then she crawled up into the bed, head on a pillow. “Come up beside me, on your left side, looking at me.”

He looked down the hills and planes of her body, her right arm reached around, holding him against her. “I know you’re in here with me. Tell me what this feels like.”

Her left hand moved down her body slowly, revisiting the way he’d touched her until she centered her fingers between her legs. Veddah unwittingly threw his head back, almost biting his lip. Barely capable of speaking, “It feels like thorsh-yel.”

“A star gone nova? We’re not there yet, Veddah.” Laura lead his free hand down so his fingers might graze erectile tissue analogous to a male’s. She was slick with arousal, it was easy to move against the nerve-rich nub, and she rocked her hips to up the intensity, leaving him in a state where he thought he might scream.

“You feel like, not like last time.” She sent him to seek her deeper warmth. “You were—”

“Dry and not physically stimulated enough for sex.” _It wasn’t good for either of us. I fucked your head up, probably forever in some ways. The way I had to force you inside me, I tore and bruised, and that’s why I loaded you up on psi-inhibitors. I know how sex works with touch telepaths. You didn’t need to feel my body’s pain too_. “Not a problem this time. . . If you still want to see this through?”

“Please.” He replied. “I need this. . .”

She arranged him, so he was on top of her, the tip of his penis against her vulva. “I’m going to help guide you in.”

Kisses, her legs wrapped around his lower back, her hands on the sides of his face, he started slow, a little awkward, but built to a rhythm that contented them both. He let his brain go on its own mission, a subdivided part of his consciousness attending to greater matters than the primordial gyrations of his body pressing into hers.

He thought nothing of the little words and sighs she whispered, deeming them a byproduct, a reaction to this kind of intimacy. “Rom-olau’ni, Veddah. Aitlun du. . .” _It feels so good, Veddah. I want you_. . .

“Dungau-ma ek’wak.” _You shall have me forever_. His thrusts, now spastic, gave little warning of what lay ahead. He combusted.

“Thorsh-yel!” She cried, her orgasm washed over them.


	39. Chapter 39

Sha’leyen stayed with Spock and Tralnor went down a few doors. The captain’s pensive state leached out into the hall. Tralnor planted his finger on the buzzer and wouldn’t let up until Kirk let him in or security came to take him away.

The man who answered was far from the golden stud who’d met him at the shuttle bay a month ago. Captain Kirk looked like a beaten dog who still sought love from an abusive master. _And you think you’re only punishing yourself, Captain_. Tralnor thought.

The captain didn’t say a word, just stepped out of the way and let the Vulcan enter. Tralnor helped himself to a chair, not even interested in gleaning the titles on the captain’s bookshelf.

“I know, I know, I’m a gormless piece of shit who doesn’t have the balls to just come out and say how I feel.” Kirk flopped onto the closest piece of furniture. “I’m a coward.”

Tralnor stayed quiet, waiting for the pity parade to pass.

“Have you ever loved someone so much it became physically painful? I felt that ache before I knew what it was. And once I figured it out, I felt trapped, like I could never let this thing in me out because—What does he see in me? How can these feelings be mutual?” Kirk’s jaw undulated like he was trying out explanations before saying them out loud. “ _Fuck_.”

The human stood and milled about the room, using movement as a stalling tactic. “He’s smart, selfless, and undeserving of my chaos. And then there’s Mollie. . .”

Kirk shed a layer of animosity at the thought of Mollie, making room for a slightly different spin, where his self-flagellation made her the straw man. If she weren’t a factor, none of this would be happening. He wanted Spock all to himself.

“He’ll marry her and live happily ever after.” Kirk’s laugh was acidic. “Dr. Tralnor, are you going to say anything or just stare at me like a disapproving parent who caught their kid out after curfew?”

“I have known Spock my entire life, and I say that not as an embellishment. The first time we met, I was three hours old. I have always looked up to him as an epitome of strength, intelligence, and resilience.”

Tralnor comprehended the intensity of Spock’s frustration. He felt Kirk’s brain as the captain cherry-picked statements for what he wanted to hear and built the responses.

“Like an older brother?” Kirk was sure.

“Not quite.” No sense in explaining, not to a man who fought and lived another day based on instinct and supposition. That wasn’t to say the captain didn’t have the academics for his job, he was an intellectual. Where Jim Kirk had the edge on others is he understood human nature at an almost molecular level, giving him the upper hand in reading encounters with people who operated at a similar emotional quotient. Working with, going against, humans, Klingons, Romulans, he could get a jump on them all.

Spock and Mollie were not human, not in the way that Kirk would classify as such. Yet, he held them to the same standards and conjecture that he would for any of the rest of his human friends and family. He approached the Vulcans something like a book of Mad Libs and following the human paradigm, love, sex, marriage, children, all those were blanks he filled in without consulting anyone else.

“James Kirk, I shouldn’t be breathing a word to you about any of this, but the truth of it is, you are tearing that man apart.”

  
  
  
What woke her up first, the smell or the headache? Maybe it was that she had to pee so bad her right leg was twitching. She wanted to tell the asshole who’d pulled the drapes back to turn out the sun when the awareness of her surroundings gelatinized. _Still on a backwater space station, still with my prisoner_. . .

They’d passed out with the lights on. Halos and auras clouded her vision as she did the cross-legged hop to the bathroom.

“Don’t know about you, but I had a pretty good time.” She said to her reflection. _Most intense sex ever_. . .

Hands washed and toweled, she returned to the bedroom and stood over the sleeping Vulcan. She’d been told time and again that they didn’t dream, but she was certain they did and chose to keep their mouths shut about it. Veddah, asleep, eyes moving beneath closed lids, yes, they dreamed.

She climbed back in bed after turning out the lights. The clocks all said it was nearing four in the morning. Even in the dark, the aurora illumination continued. Her hands out in front of her seemed a fuzzy muted blue, and he came across in lavender and moss agate. That was the headache, she decided. Blankets drawn up around her shoulders, she moved in closer to the living blast furnace next to her.

“Why do you have to be Vulcan?”

Nothing in the darkened room responded. Veddah had a fox-crazy streak. She’d turned him into dust, and yet he plotted and planned to take her down, his mind churning through the possibilities. He took her abuse, her battery, her harassment, and instead of distilling that into directionless fear or hate to be hurled out at anyone, he tucked that information away to use against her later in whatever bloodless stratagem he sprang on her.

Most of her prisoners were like Franklin and Horse-laugh, all swagger with no lasting follow-through.

Veddah, if she weren’t careful, would get her good. She had to respect him for that tenacity.

“If you were human, I do believe we’d have a lot of fun together.” He was also meek and sweet and would have been a wonderful husband for the girl he left at home. She’d ruined him for that. “Instead, we have this.”

She ignored the mingling effluvium of semen, sweat, and chocolate, going back to sleep.

  
  
  
“You can’t make him choose between his past and you.” Tralnor didn’t know what might get through to Kirk. “You have to be the one to compromise this time.”

“This time? What do you mean, this time?” Quizzical, Kirk thought Tralnor was talking out his ass.

“Spock bares his soul to you, lets you see him at his most raw, acknowledges to you that he has emotions and what they come to bear. That is a concession that he grants to you, so when he says he is in love with you, that’s not a frivolous claim.”

The smirk, the captain was trying to read Tralnor and not doing too well. Self-assured, Kirk said, “What do I have to compromise about?”

“Mollie.”

What might have become a grin turned to gritted teeth and a sneer. “ _Mollie_?”

“He will not, cannot, cut her out of his life.”

“If he loved me the way he says—” Tralnor’s harsh gaze dried Kirk’s words up before he finished the sentence.

“It’s not up for debate, James. When Laura Hillyard called Mollie his Reason for Existing, she meant it in a literal sense. Spock and Mollie’s coming into being is so deeply intertwined, they are closer than friends.”

“By closer, you mean _lovers_?” The leaps Kirk made were simply maddening. The way he said “lovers” revealed the septic jealousy he had toward Mollie or anyone else he saw as a threat to Spock.

“No. This isn’t about sex.” He didn’t go into much detail, but the captain got the gist of what went on in the lab where Spock and Mollie were created. “In that way, they are together, forever, joined by something no two other people can completely comprehend.”

Disparaging remark on the tip of his tongue, Kirk choked that back and said, “If they’re that enmeshed, why aren’t they already married? Why wait until now and torture me with the whole spectacle?”

“Some people are better as friends.” Tralnor wanted that statement to sink into the human’s brain. “In their case, it’s with the understanding that while they will always be there for one another, no matter the situation, they don’t want to marry each other. They never have.”

“But they could, in case of—?” The captain couldn’t bring up the Fever.

“As a desperate act of last resort.” Tralnor could see very little of this was getting through. Kirk had decided, the second he heard her name those weeks ago in sick bay, that Mollie was his nemesis. And as the competition, he didn’t want to allow her any ingress to the man he aggressively loved and lusted after.

Kirk’s all-or-nothing mentality vexed Tralnor. “There is a Vulcan word, kadiith. Have you heard of it?”

“I have.”

“Spock and Mollie are kadiith. Their relationship is what it is. You can’t change that. I’m not saying that you ever have to like her and you certainly don’t have to love her but don’t use her as an excuse to punish Spock for your own misgivings.”

  
  
  
Naked, warm, and sharing a bed with Laura Hillyard, Veddah awoke relieved to discover he was still alive. His nerves still rattled with the electric pulses that made the physical aspects of what they’d done an activity worth revisiting. There was understanding now for his crewmates who blathered on about the wonders of sex.

She didn’t look as hard in her sleep. Her features softened, making her seem almost peaceful. He knew she was a landmine, easily triggered. He reached over and grazed his fingertips across her cheek.

Landmine activated.

Her eyes sprang open, and she grabbed him around the wrist at a speed he didn’t know humans were capable of. She glowered at him. “ _What did you do to me_?”

  
  
  
_I don’t want to share. I shouldn’t have to share, not with someone I didn’t know existed until a month ago_! _Why does he do this to me_? _T’Pring, Mollie, who else is out there_? _At least he didn’t fuck T’Pring. Oh, shit. I think you can hear me_.

Tralnor didn't acknowledge the thoughts Kirk launched like a volley of cannon fire. He believed the captain’s alpha disposition was of great worry. There was no doubt that Kirk loved Spock with everything that he was. Protectiveness toward one’s mate was not a bad thing unless it twisted into a combination of isolationism and malice.

“Mollie is on your side, James.”

  
  
  
“Veddah?” She yanked on his arm, leveling his face to hers.

“You gave me the idea.” He said.

“Idea?” _I shouldn’t be able to see you in the dark_! “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“Dead man’s switch.” His hand began to go numb as her strangling grip cut off circulation. “You left me no choice.”

“What _exactly_ did you do?”

“You cannot set off this device in my head without killing yourself.” He stared into her. “Last night, during intercourse, I initiated tel-tor.”

So shocked by his revelation, she let go of his hand so she could lean over the side of the bed and vomit into the wastebasket.

  
  
  
“What does that mean, she’s on my side?” Another of Kirk’s survival instincts engaged: suspicion. He could never trust that Mollie was not on the sidelines secretly gunning for his man.

“Mollie has always wanted Spock to seek his one true romantic love. He’s found that in you, James, and you love him back. She is your greatest supporter, so long as you treat him in the exemplary manner he deserves.” At this juncture, Tralnor was hesitant to stand in Kirk’s court. Until the captain could get a firm grip on certain aspects of his behavior and the coordinating emotions, Tralnor didn’t know if he could entrust Kirk to not continue down this road of emotional hijacking and jealousy. Spock would not survive that hostile environment for long.

“She—why?”

“She thinks Spock has earned some happiness in this life.”

  
  
  
Sitting, table lamp on, she twisted around and caught him by the throat. He croaked in surprise, and she felt his shock that she might still kill him, committing suicide at the same time, just for spite. “ _You weren’t bonded_?”

“I was, as a child, she was killed in an accident when we were fifteen.” His words hissed out of him as she continued to constrict his neck. “T’Danna and I decided to wait until our wedding because of my obligations to Starfleet.”

When he said his fiancee’s name, a bloom of his sadness and regret at the loss of what might have been washed through to her mind. She let go, and he coughed, rubbing at the indentations her fingers left behind.

“And being a virgin, you hadn’t been through the pon farr either, so it makes some sense that you weren’t bonded. _Oh, now you’re embarrassed_? I lived amongst you for years. I know about the Fever.” She got into a more comfortable position. “How do we break this bond? Can you do it?”

His emotions over-boiled and collided into her, taking her breath and shaking her brain. The light show rippled and shimmered. She screwed her eyes shut and pressed her fingers into her temples, but she couldn’t block him out.

“Let’s find a Healer.” She said. “We break the bond, and I promise I will not kill you. Then, I will let you go once we’ve found T’Pau’s scary antiquity.”

(I know I can trust that you will honor that promise.) He lay the words in her mind.

“. . . _touching and never touched_. . . That line in the vows finally makes sense to me.” She let go of her head and looked toward him again. “What’s the catch, Veddah?”

“We will need to find someone much more specialized than a Healer.” The swelling in the internal structures of his neck made it hard to speak. (I had to save myself. This was the only recourse I had.)

He leaned away as her signature icy grin spread across her face. “Well-played, Veddah. Well-played.”

  
  
  
The better part of an hour passed, Laura contemplating and synthesizing Veddah’s surprise when she said, “I had nothing to hide. I’m not ignorant either. I know exactly what goes on during sex with a touch telepath, that your minds reach out in a way that very few of you can control. The only reason so many people hate and fear psions is that they don’t want their secrets to come out. I am a rapist, a murderer, a thief, and I don’t pretend to be anyone or anything that I’m not.”

Quiet, pensive, Veddah worked on shoring up the cracks and fissures in his mental stability.

“And it’s not like I haven’t fucked other prisoners when the mood’s struck me.” Something felt like her ears popped. It was his subconscious kicking up a traumatic reaction to their first sexual encounter. “But, I’ve never violated anyone the way I did to you.”

(Nor have I, until last night.)

She laughed at him, her amusement and his confusion snarled in a ball. “You are taking what you did to me to a level far too severe, Veddah.”

(I too have committed a reprehensible criminal act.)

“You may have pulled one over on me, you crafty bastard, but if you think you’ve perpetrated kae'at k’lasa, you’re wrong.”

(You would absolve me of my misconduct?)

“I let you enter into my body and my mind. _I consented, Veddah_. You were neither coercive nor violent. You weren’t out for vengeance. I was fully aware of the repercussions of what could happen without dosing you with a psi-inhibitor. I chose to get sexually intimate with you anyway. You could go through the Verification, but there is nothing they would find that they could charge you with. You can’t be punished for acting in self-defense.” He didn’t want to believe her. “Am I pissed that you’ve fused our minds together? Yeah, I’m angry, mostly at myself for not taking proper precautions because I was horny and thinking with my crotch. Did you mentally rape me? No, you absolutely did not.”

(I still defend that I am in the wrong.) He insisted. Veddah was too honorable to see what he’d done as anything but the worst crime a Vulcan could commit against another person.

Laura, anticipating her next move, was ready to exploit this situation to her benefit. This was a unique opportunity to learn more about her sworn enemies from behind their own eyes. What better way to solve the mysteries of what made these people tick? “Look at it this way, Veddah. When we go back out to the markets today, we don’t have to pretend like we’re married.”

“Because we are married.” He uttered.


	40. Chapter 40

“Downtown Los Angeles reads you loud and clear.” Joe Bergman sat next to Mollie in a generic conference room of some hotel.

“ShiKahr is live.” Buster said, sharing the sofa with three other people and a couple of interesting props.

“Rec Room 2 aboard the USS Enterprise sees all and hears all.” Tralnor said. “Welcome to session two of the behind the scenes commentary for _Celluloid Vokaya_.”

The group at Consolidated Terran School waved, much to the amusement of Enterprise’s audience. Then Joe said, as he dissolved into a fit of laughter, “Oh fuck, they brought Lynda.”

“Lynda says hi.” Buster said.

“Hi, Lynda!” The entire panel, save Spock, shouted back. At least the blond bimbo blow-up doll was dressed. . . in a raincoat.

“Tell Lynda if she flashes us, I’ll leave her on the cutting room floor.” Tralnor told the goofballs on the couch.

“You better behave yourself, Lynda.” One of the new faces on the panel said.

“Let’s go around and introduces ourselves again, this time using our Names.” Tralnor indicated that he’d start. “Greetings everyone, I’m your talented host and cat herder, Mr. Peanut Butter, and I’m here with the man, the myth, the legend, Mr. Lucky Drawers.”

Enterprise’s audience, not in on the joke yet, watched as certain members of the movie crew howled and fell all over one another. Sohja started the rest of it. “I am Tinkerbell.”

“My mama called me Shauna, but my Name is Nola.” The dreadlocked woman seated next to Sohja said. Her smile was permanently carved into her face. “I played trumpet with Tralnor, Buster, and this guy right here.”

The man to Nola’s right looked to be reading a book. She whacked him in the side. “Arnold!”

His head popped up. Slanted eyebrows were barely visible beneath his overgrown fringe. He closed his book, tucked his shaggy hair behind his pointed ears, took a second to get his bearings, and said, “What?”

“Everyone, this is Arnold.” Nola said. She followed in a sarcastic tone with, “We don’t trust Arnold because you can’t trust anyone who thinks clowns are funny.”

“ _Clowns_ , Arnold!” Buster, Nola, and Joe yelled.

“It is not necessarily that clowns are ‘funny’ as you term it, but the sacred fool holds a specific placement within the societies—” Arnold started on a dry, academic lecture on his chosen area of expertise.

“Shut up!” Nola swatted him again.

Fingers stuck in ears, Buster said, “ _La-la-la-la-la_.”

Joe looked at Tralnor, like he could do something. “Oh sweet merciful Satan, make it stop!”

“—humor need not feed into the function of—” Arnold droned on.

A certain Leonard McCoy thought this exchange was funnier than hell. “So, I’m not the only one who has this particular problem.”

“For fuck’s sake, Arnold.” Nola rolled her head back. “Give it a rest.”

“Nam'uh ralash-fam, Voset.” Sohja, calling Arnold by his given name, told him to shut his yap. “Il dungau-tukh-tor ash’ai svi’tu ru’lut.”

That’s when Mollie lost it, folding over in hysterics. Tralnor had to shade his eyes, so she didn’t set him off, when Sha’leyen’s laugh was that last little shove he needed. He sprouted a smile. “Thanks, Sohja. Would you care to give our fair audience a translation?”

“I told him to shut up before I crammed a sock in his mouth. It is most unfortunate that our language has not picked up specific earth words.” She turned to Arnold. “Or, I would have told him to choke on a squirrel.”

  
  
  
Tralnor had to put the connection on hold for ten minutes while all sides regrouped.

(Arnold is still Arnold.) Spock said.

(Head in the clouds, nose in a book. If he didn’t have the ivory tower to save him, he’d be hopeless. As Buster said, he’s a smart guy, but what a dingbat.)

(It is difficult to fathom that he is Vulcan.)

(I’ve always thought he studied sacred fools because he knows he is one.) Tralnor took another long draw from his coffee.

(I believe you may be right.) Spock’s energy still sang with the hilarity of what they’d just seen.

“Now that we’ve returned from our short recess, we’re going to move right along to our old friend, Buster.” Tralnor dove back into the process.

“My Name is Buster.”

“Hymen.” Nola said. “Gotta say the whole thing, _Frances_.”

Buster shot Nola the finger and started over. “My birth certificate says I’m called Frances. My Band Name is Buster, which I amended my senior year when we’re allowed to, but yes, I started out as Buster Hymen.”

“Because that’s all he talked about was how bad he wanted to get laid for like the first semester of school.” Nola patted him on the back. “You earned it.”

“I guess I did. You’re Nola because you’re born and raised in New Orleans.” Buster said.

“I am Arnold Palmer. I received the moniker because the first time I consumed that drink, it was too much sugar for my system, and I threw up.”

Sohja looked into the camera. “I am named for the character, Tinkerbell, from the motion picture, _Peter Pan_. Tinkerbell is a cold-hearted bitch, as am I.”

“Joe Bergman, and my Band Name? Penny. I showed up to my very first day at band camp in a pair of penny loafers. By the end of the day, my feet were like stew meat.”

Mollie said, “Someone actually did their research when they came up with mine. It’s not funny or embarrassing like some of these others. My Name is Nomie. They spelled it wrong, but it’s the concept of the “all” from the IDIC. I think they just didn’t know what to call me.”

“I’m Mr. Peanut Butter because peanut butter and jam sandwiches were all anyone saw me eat for that first week of freshman year.”

“It’s all anyone sees you eat now.” Billy the Sixth called out from the back row. The lads guffawed in unison.

Tralnor stood and faced the audience. “As you can see, this ensemble is a subculture unto itself. New members face trials and ceremony on the road to full-standing within the group. I can’t say that it’s just a human thing, because this is a convergence witnessed time and again, as you yourselves are familiar with in your explorations of space.

“This transition from outsider to member is what allows a group composed of individuals from disparate backgrounds to become a united front, just as we’ve experienced in evolving from civilians into Starfleet personnel.

“We want to share some of this with you, so as a participating audience, sans the ability to watch the film as a contiguous whole, we don’t lose you because you feel left out.”

The audience, almost unchanged from the last session, was bright-eyed and ready to launch themselves into a world of make-believe. They desperately needed to forget about life for a couple of hours.

“Joe, what is tonight’s clip?”

“Okay, so it’s not entirely cleaned up visually, but I’ve gotten the music synced back up perfectly. I thought since you wanted to discuss Names that I’d get a sequence together that shows how one of us got our Name.” Joe opened a file on a desktop screen. “This is toward the very beginning of the film where we show the young lives of the Queen and King, done in chronological order, over the course of about twenty minutes. It’s viewable without any references to the rest of the movie and could actually be a short film unto itself.”

“For this section, much of what we’re watching are _genuine memories_ , not recreated scenes for the film’s sake. The producers thank our participants for volunteering to share their real lives with us.” Tralnor lowered the lights as a grand orchestral score overtook the room.

  
  
  
Jim Kirk, determined to watch without acting like a complete jerk, settled back in the dark and braced himself for what he’d see. That meant taking his eyes off Spock’s back, where the Vulcans sat in front. _I will behave, he told himself. I have to prove I can behave, or that amazing man just won’t have me_.

Two children, nursery school age, barefoot, stand on the damp sand of the seashore, Santa Monica, California. The lip of a wave swirls over their toes. Mollie runs from the water, screaming bloody murder. Spock stays behind to investigate. A change of angle shows two women, one of whom is obviously Amanda Grayson, trying to calm Mollie. A cut to Spock holding out his hand, Mollie goes to him, and they let the ocean splash against their legs.

A lavish ceremony at a grand Scottish castle. The same children watch from the edges of a ballroom as T’Lal and Justin MacCormack dance like something out of Cinderella.

Split screen, slightly older, they’re off to school, harassed and picked on, one for being too human, the other not being enough. Mollie makes a show of psionically creating an illusion of light and snow, sending her fellow Vulcan students ducking under furniture and attempting to flee in fear. Spock, badgered to breaking point, hits back at the unruly student who clobbered him first. Exasperated, Amanda picks them up from their respective headmasters’ offices. In the back seat of the air car, the children share the slightest knowing grin.

Age seven, sent off into the unforgiving desert to live or die. For Spock, a lesson in relieving the suffering of a beloved pet. Mollie, long hair cut down to the scalp with a wicked-looking knife, enters the bush. He comes home, he’s made his choice: he is Vulcan. She comes home, there is no choice, she receives the First Marks of the Lyr Saan slave tattoo. He contemplates the meaning of a Good Death. Biting on a rag to stifle the pain, held down by two adults, the hand of an elder firmly planted on her face, the psychoactive properties in the ink prime her brain to accept Dvatai and Vesht-var of the Clan, snippets of the Lyr Saan Tenets and History flashed on the screen: peace/war, freedom/enslavement, education/ignorance.

She goes to earth, attends the Greater Los Angeles Vulcan School, but spends Fridays at Murdock Middle School. He continues his studies, learns to ignore his bullies. They get to talk over subspace one night a week. They are bitterly lonely but surviving.

Turlock High School, she’s decided to go north, splits her time two days amongst humans, three with her Vulcan age-mates at the embassy sponsored school in San Francisco. She excels in her studies. He’s moved fast too, left his naysayers far behind.

The images are almost still, edges blurry, panic, smoke, and blood. Three men have intruded on a county-wide honors student assembly hosted by Pittman High. Over two-hundred hostages. Terror, Bad Death, armed police crashing through windows, doors implode. Cordite and lead. Mollie, spattered in the blood of the dead classmate she tried to help.

They are together again. Time devoted to their combined research and discoveries. ShiKahr doesn’t embrace them, but they make do with what they have.

A poster advertising the prom. She wants to go, but none of the students at Consolidated want to be her date. The night of, she sits in her room, the door opens. Three women enter: T’Lal, Livia, and Lady Amanda. One of them carries a garment bag. Floor-length and sleeveless, the light icy blue makes her look like a real-life version of the princess she portrays in the film. Her tattoo, visible for all, has been added to over the years, ancient calligraphy like spokes on a hub. The doorbell rings. Mollie opens it to find Spock, borrowed tuxedo, and a rose corsage from Amanda’s garden to match the one on his lapel.

Pictures, a limo to the dance, the looks when they walked through the door. Laura Hillyard making faces and drawing her finger across her throat. After the event, on a stone overlook that granted a breathtaking view of the city, they lay on a blanket, shoes off, his bowtie and first button undone, and stare up at the stars.

The music changes. Still instrumental, it's more intense, more in-tune with one’s base emotions. The next scene starts as a reflection in a mirror, Spock and Mollie digging through closets and drawers as fast as they can move, filling a soft-sided piece of luggage. The sense of urgency is what got to Kirk. A letter on Starfleet Academy stationery shoved in last, bag zipped. Bedroom window opened, Spock jumps to the ground, Mollie hurling the bag after. Door opened by a powerful hand, she’s facing Sarek. Her lips move in this memory, and she says something Spock’s father does not want to hear before she sits on the sill and purposely falls backward. Sarek’s pained expression as he watches them climb the outer wall and flee.

A man in a crisp gold Starfleet dress uniform taps at his wrist. He’s standing at the gate to a commercial flight from Vulcan to earth. The ship should have disembarked ten minutes ago.

In the back of a private shuttle, Lady Amanda, eyes haunted, stares at the blank signature line on a piece of legal paperwork. The shuttle docks. As Livia and T’Lal exit the craft, she relents and elegantly signs her name.

Spock and Mollie run from one side of the commercial sector of Vulcan Space Central to the other. Gate C-15 is deserted except for three women and one man. The officer says something, calls Spock and Mollie over and asks a question they don’t seem to know the answer to. T’Lal stands, accepts the officer’s data padd and stylus, and signs on the line that says Spock, a minor at age seventeen, has received her approval as his legal guardian so he may enter into Starfleet.

T’Lal sheds her cloak, revealing a uniform that says she’s attached to Starfleet Command’s Aerospace Research Division. Gold tunic, sleeves give her rank as Lt. Commander, and the insignia on her chest tells Kirk she’s both a Special Reservist and a test pilot. She takes over for the impatient officer and swears Spock in.

Tears stream down Amanda’s face. She doesn’t know if she’s done the right thing. Mollie offers Spock the ta’al right before he turns to leave. He returns with USC’s V for Victory. Spock, T’Lal, and the officer disappear down the boarding ramp. Mollie, Livia, and Amanda stand at the giant windows so they might get in a final wave. From inside the passenger ship, Spock and T’Lal wave back.

New music, this piece offers more hope and less force than the previous. Mollie, in her room, opens a box and lifts out the top of the black uniform worn by students at the Vulcan Science Academy. She examines the details, touches the metal script embellishments and lays it back in the box. In the immediate next scene, she’s submitting her withdrawal request to the VSA Dean of Admissions, who is stunned by her actions. She’s seen boarding a passenger liner via Space Central Gate C-15.

Split screen. California. Upperclassmen screaming and hurling insults, pushups, running laps, marching. Uniform fittings, roll calls, drills. Swaying through hordes of people, wincing from the noise, cramped dorms, crazy roommates. Faces contort in laughter at the sight of meditation robes. Rude questions, grabby hands, blatant stares, lousy food. Cold and damp.

The first weekend Cadets are allowed off-campus, he takes off for LA. She’s handed the keys to her lab space and rushes into the facility. Bouncing from station to station, she’s ecstatic. Door left open in her drive to get in, she turns to find a familiar face at the threshold. Joy. He’s brought a list of the things he’s been allotted for his research at the Academy. They compare facilities, both pleased, lip-reading, Kirk thinks Spock says to her, “We have made it.”

Football games, academia, settling in socially, being smarter than the instructors, growing tolerance from and of others. Busses from Los Angeles to the Bay Area. Marching band gigs around San Francisco, finding that elegant face watching her from the periphery.

She wakes up with a start in the bottom bunk of an Academy dorm room. Tossing things around, she can’t find all of her clothes. Bra, shirt, and socks wadded in her arms, she’s stolen one of Spock’s black meditation robes, and runs from the building, headlong into some random Cadet. Spock, who happened to be there, gets her up, gathers her things, and listens as she explains something. Her cab rolls up to get her back to the band’s hotel because she’s already late. She’s last seen mouthing the words _lucky drawers_.

Five days later, marching band rehearsal is interrupted by a package courier. Mollie, heckled as she signs, is goaded into opening the padded envelope in front of two-hundred-thirty staff and students. Face scarlet, smile triumphant, she whips out her lucky game-day underpants for all to see. Putting them on over her clothes, she’s forced to take a lap around the track surrounding the practice field.

Kirk tried to find the humor in what he’d just seen, like the people around him yukking it up, but he was hit by sadness, maybe embarrassment of his own, that now the entire crew knew that Spock was fucking Mollie. _Enough of that, Mister, he thought. If you stand any chance at all, it can’t matter that she went there first_.


	41. Chapter 41

Spock recalled the teasing he’d endured from classmates over the half-naked girl rocketing out of his room and how she’d pleaded, in public, for him to find her lost underpants. At least after that, he’d no longer had to listen to people try to bait and hector him for supposedly being a virgin.

He’d found her silky cardinal-colored panties wedged between the bed and the wall. Some people thought she’d humiliated him out there on the quad, but that was not true. She’d become his lily of the valley perfume. Seldom seen, she was the “‘SC girlfriend." Letting those around him believe that he was in a relationship kept all but the most ardent from pursuing him. Then, because they were still geographically close enough, he could bring her to a function here and there to chase off the Christine Chapels of the world.

The film continued, another split screen shows them moving on in their undergraduate studies as teaching assistants, taking graduate seminars, earning awards, pressing forward in their scholarship, always coming back to one another.

Anyone who did not know this was where things transitioned from real to make-believe would think they were viewing a contiguous story. He receives a visit from her parents, Tralnor’s mother and father playing the part. He’s advised to propose before he graduates to active duty. He follows the Queen and King’s guidance and drops to one knee in Golden Gate Park.

Solo piano and a complete change of scenery. The story returns to Glenapp Castle. A formal wedding. He stands at the front of the room, two friends, Jock Balloch and Arnold Palmer at his side.

The first real words in the entire sequence, recorded lyrics, Mollie’s voice:

_For you, there'll be no more crying For you, the sun will be shining_

She appears, a stunning vision in white. Guests stand as the bride is walked up the aisle by her father. Sequins and pearls, red stain on her lips, dark hair holding her tiara and veils.

_And I feel that when I'm with you It's alright, I know it's right_

He looks at her, and where the audience there in Rec Room 2 could not see any emotion on his face, he recalled how he’d half-wished it was real, that she’d save him from T’Pring. He’d touched at his bond and felt less than nothing.

_To you, I'll give the world To you, I'll never be cold_

The Queen, the King, Spock and his men, several of those who made up the guests at the wedding wore a fictional version of a military dress uniform. And as she came near, even the bride in her white dress wore a sash that bore stylized, whited-out versions of medals.

_'Cause I feel that when I'm with you It's alright, I know it's right_

He and Mollie stood, face-to-face, her parents behind her. He lifted the veil and knew at that moment, he’d never have such a thing in real life. The ‘vicar’ was Livia, done up in prosthetic makeup, so she looked Vulcan. Wearing T’Lal’s formal robes, slight alterations to the embellishments, she called for the ceremony to begin.

_And the songbirds are singing Like they know the score_

Dressed as humans, the vows and actions by the wedding party were those of a Vulcan nuptial. They recited the traditional words, in Old Lyr Saan, even though the dialogue was never recorded. Eyes locked, hands on one another’s faces, they pretended to create the tel-tor. Fingers dropped and touched, the kiss real.

_And I love you, I love you, I love you Like never before_

They walk down the aisle hand-in-hand, waving to their guests. A very human reception line without the shaking of hands. Castle employees and locals had not gotten the memo that the wedding was staged. There were a lot of genuine well-wishes for their new life together. Bride and groom climb into an elegant Mark II Jaguar cabriolet. As the driver takes them away, the final lyrics.

_And I wish you all the love in the world But most of all, I wish it from myself_

  
  
  
House lights up, the large screen returned to the feed of the panelists. The only noise came from an upset Nurse Chapel, who was attempting to flee the room. No one tried to stop her.

“Damn.” Buster was the first to speak. “It’s been twenty years since I’ve seen this and I’d forgotten how beautiful that was. And like Tralnor said, thank you so much for letting all of us into your lives like that. It’s an honor.”

“ _Beautiful_?” Chapel hadn’t made it out the door yet. She was still squeezing in and around people when she stopped. “I knew you were a cruel race, but I never thought you’d stoop so low as to systematically abuse your children. _You’re horrible_!”

“Whoa, Lady.” Joe jumped in. “I’ve easily seen this two-hundred times in the last few weeks. There’s nothing there that constitutes abuse.”

“What do you call sending second-graders out into the desert on their own? Forcing a little girl into getting a disfiguring tattoo? That is abuse.” She’d become indignant.

“It is a rite of passage called the kahs'wan.” Sha’leyen stood and addressed the room. “It may be arduous, as my experience with it was, but it’s hardly cruel. We are not simply turned out into the wilderness to become food for the beasts. In the year leading up to the ordeal, we are taught self-sufficiency, survival skills, and about the terrain we’re entering. It is one of the essential building blocks for the foundation of our adult lives.”

Something unsaid went between the Lt. Commander and Nurse Chapel. “That doesn’t make it right.”

“Not your call.” Sha’leyen said. “And Mollie’s tattoo, like mine, like Tralnor’s, is part of being Clan Lyr Saan. We all wear the ulidar t’kafeh as a potent reminder of where we come from. The Lyr Saan were a slave race. We appropriated that mark of ownership and turned it into a symbol of freedom. It is the opposite of cruelty.”

“The way you act, I can’t help but wonder if Vulcans love their children at all?”

Joe waded further into the fray and pointed. “That man right there is one of the most exceptional people I know, and let me tell you something: Tralnor loves his girls, to suggest otherwise betrays your ignorance. The panel, we witnessed that love firsthand. We were right there for his older daughter’s milestones from age four to eight. And love, you want to talk about love? Tralnor’s parents stepped in as the primary caretakers for their granddaughter so he could focus on getting an education, so he would be able to support her in the future.

“We were there for her kahs’wan, and we even hosted her bonding ceremony in the backyard at the house we all lived in near campus. Never once did we see anything approaching cruelty or abuse. Not to the very young like Tralnor’s daughter and not to older kids like we were as college students.”

Chapel didn’t stand down and didn’t address Joe. She placed her focus on Sha’leyen, Tralnor, and Spock. “You don’t let your children laugh. . . You truncate their emotions and savagely curtail their psychological development.”

“You want to know savage?” Sha’leyen pre-empted anyone else from talking. “Come to my homeworld. Spend a week on Belon. There, you will see what it is to be savage. Not all of Belon followed in the Reform. My world is a place of bloody conflict and constant strife fed by untamed, guttural emotion.

“As such, it means there are swathes of Belonites who think they are justified in their abhorrent behavior. I was a victim of that mentality. I was stolen from Tralnor when we were fourteen, taken as a war prize. Tralnor was ruthlessly carved out of my head so a forty-seven-year-old warlord could force marriage on a child. The scars on my face come from his intaglio ring digging into my flesh. He raped me, every chance he got, and passed me around to his friends for fun.

“Aged sixteen, I was six months pregnant when he decided he didn’t want to be a father again. He kicked my unborn child to death, then left me to hemorrhage and deliver my deceased daughter alone. The next day, assuming I was dead too, he dumped the corpse of my nine-month-old son on the ground beside me. And that is just some of what he did to me. While it sounds like a domestic violence situation gone beyond the pale, my former husband’s way of being, like so many Belonites’ was almost entirely dictated by near-feral emotional imperatives. Take that one person, multiply him by the thousands, set them up with a band of just as twisted subordinates, those groups hellbent to destroy all others as gruesomely as possible, for each of these uncontrolled, undisciplined people, kidnapping, marrying, raping, impregnating, and attempting to murder a child bride is such a common occurrence as to be mundane.

“Belon is a backwater with a small population, barely surviving. Now, imagine the terror and violence I’ve just described on a grand scale, reaching beyond the red sands of T’Khasi, out into the stars, and you’ve got pre-Reform Vulcan.

“Conflict begets conflict. Blood only brings more blood. To stop the cycle repeating, you have to start when people are young. If our methods seem harsh, try to comprehend that it is not without reason.”

“That is not a state we want to revert to.” Sohja fixed her icy gaze on the nurse. “And, you should not want us to devolve in such a way, if only for your own sake.”

Chapel, at that point, didn’t care who she stepped on or bumped into. She finished making her escape.

“Remind me to never visit this Belon place.” Joe attempted to defuse the mood. “Vulcans, I think you’re beautiful just the way you are now.

“Doing the historical research for this project, I came across things that give me bad dreams, to this very day. Sohja, Tralnor, and I, as the producers, decided in terms of story elements, to insert World War II Europe as the stand-in for pre-Reform Vulcan. I’m not saying this to be a morbid wiseass, but World War II was more. . . dignified, and for lack of better description, humane. And that’s coming from someone descended from Nazi Holocaust survivors. ”

“Do we have any questions or comments about tonight’s viewing?” Tralnor queried the room, but the spirit seemed to have left when Nurse Chapel trotted out her opinions. “Panel?”

Equally discouraged, they didn’t have much oomph left either.

Ready to call the evening a wash, Tralnor decided to try and reschedule this session for a later date. The sequence shown wasn’t the complete run of the characters’ early lives. He thanked the audience and the panel for their time and wished them a good night.

  
  
  
The slightly depressed atmosphere of the junior officers’ quarters made it an uncomfortable space. Rohit was the one who finally spoke. “Dr. Tralnor, can we see your tattoo?”

He’d not gone out of the way to show it off or let anyone know he had it. There wasn’t much harm in letting these guys take a look. He stripped off his thermal undershirt that he was rarely without and turned, so his back right shoulder was visible in the light.

It was big, the center about the size of a dinner plate over his scapula. Some elements lapped over the front of the shoulder and down his bicep, others down his back to the bottom of his ribcage.

“How does this work? Is it a narrative that you read in clockwise order?” Billy the Sixth was entranced by the delicate calligraphy.

“No, you start with the Ordinals, the compass rose that makes up the First Marks.” Tralnor’s mind went back to his kahs’wan. His time in the desert was less grueling than having the initial lines of ink deposited into his skin.

Seltun moved to see better. The human collective tensed up with concern that the Krampus might go crazy again. The lads’ objections turned verbal when the younger Vulcan benevolently traced the words most recently inked on Tralnor’s back. Tralnor held up a hand to keep them from grabbing Seltun and throwing him out of their collective space.

“Ashau ri tevik.” Seltun read the line and lifted his finger from Tralnor’s body. “T’Kehr, ri ken-tor. Ra-tvia?” _I don’t understand, Teacher. What does it mean_?

“Love never dies.” Tralnor turned around to face the room.

“Is it for your wife?” Goodhearted, Billy liked the idea of a permanent ode to romantic love.

“It could be construed that way.” Tralnor’s body heat dissipated. He pulled the thermal undershirt back over his head. “Ashau ri tevik is a reminder that the Laura Hillyards of the universe cannot win. We won’t let them win.”

  
  
  
“Good Golly, Miss Mollie, what the fuck was that all about?” Joe closed up the hotel’s “Executive A/V Suite” and handed her the key. “I thought these Starfleet types were supposed to be open-minded and shit like that. I’m a professional asshole, and that gal managed to out-asshole me.”

Joe, not adept at the art of the Vulcan silence, filled the dead air when Mollie didn’t comment right away. “Did you see the way she was staring you down as we were watching? She wanted to skin you alive, but only after gouging your eyes out first.”

“She has a massive crush on Spock. About a year-and-a-half ago, VSA Research Vessel Tekkah and the USS Enterprise were docked at Starbase 12. He and I had planned our get-together for months, knowing our ships would overlap there. We don’t get to see one another in person very often anymore and wanted to take advantage. Tekkah came in a day before Enterprise, so I went to meet Spock as he disembarked.

“Nurse Whoever had me on her radar the second Spock and I greeted one another. She followed us just about everywhere we went, giving me the stink-eye the entire time. She just about died when we went to my hotel. I asked him about her, and he told me she wasn’t worth worrying about, wouldn’t even give me her name.”

“She’s obviously never been around Vulcans in any profound way and doesn’t understand you as individuals or as a people. And I get the idea that she doesn’t want to either. That would stand in the way of the pre-fabricated fantasy she’s got in her head. Maybe she thinks she’s going to save Spock from the _Big Bad Logic_ and show him what it is to _Feel_.” Joe held the door for Mollie as they entered the restaurant on the third floor. “As if.”

“And if she’s freaked out about me, what is she going to do when Spock and Captain Kirk come out as a couple?”

  
  
  
“If it’s not too personal, Dr. Tralnor. . .” Chris, typically the most forward of the cabinmates, was uncharacteristically reticent. “Doing the math and following what the aloha shirt guy said, um, you were—”

“Let’s say I learned a hard lesson about leaving one’s drink unattended at a party.” Tralnor said. Five sets of eyes regarded him, brains grinding on what that and the age range between him and his daughter meant.

Once Seltun figured it out, he had to sit down. “K’la’sa?”

He nodded at Seltun. “I was a very young high school freshman and attended a gathering out on the irrigation canals after a Friday night football game. Bonfire, music, it was the usual teenage party. Some of the kids from the other high school in town showed up too. One was a girl who had an unhealthy interest in me.”

“Like Nurse Chapel and Commander Spock?” Andy asked as he too sat on one of the bunks.

“Similar, yes. I set my drink down so I could take a leak. I came back and grabbed my cup. It turns out methaqualone, which is terrifyingly effective on Vulcans, can’t be smelled or tasted when well mixed in a rum and coke. I don’t remember what happened after that. Blasted out of my brain on that drug, she must have convinced me to take a walk, and we wandered off into the almond orchard. A farmer found me the next day, propped up against a tree. I was comatose, naked from the waist down, my limbs bound with monofilament.

“The girl fled the planet before the police could catch up with her. It was almost a year later, I was with Sha’leyen at Shelby Orbital when we were awoken by a meowing noise at our door. We found my daughter, less than an hour old, wadded up in a pile of bloody linens, her placenta still attached.

“Law enforcement caught up to that girl when she was taken to hospital for complications from giving birth. She went to prison for rape and attempted first-degree murder and will never see the light of day again.”

The lads said nothing, just let the story sink in.

“I was twelve when she was conceived, thirteen when she was born, and while she was created in an act of unforgivable violence and violation, I love her. . .”

Tralnor opened a drawer and pulled out his wallet. He removed a small photo and passed it around. The candid shot, thanks to Jock Balloch and his near-magical ability to capture private tender moments, showed father and daughter before the first football game of Tralnor’s USC career. Almost kneeling, uniform a bold statement in cardinal and gold, one hand holding his trumpet and the other around his little girl, they are smiling.

  
  
  
“Songbird,” lyrics by Christine McVie. From the Fleetwood Mac album Rumours


	42. Chapter 42

“Bones, you’d better have a word with Chapel.” Kirk and McCoy had stepped into the first available small lounge they happened upon in the exodus from Rec Room 2. “I’d hoped she was getting better about her hang-ups, but obviously not.”

“I’ll see what I can do. She’s a superior nurse, I’d hate to lose her because she can’t get her personal life sorted.” McCoy stretched out and crossed his feet.

“Are you talking about me or Chapel?”

McCoy thought about it. “Both of you, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Kirk looked off into a place only he knew, then came back, and for the first time in weeks sounded like he might actually have started to get his shit together. “Barring the disruption at the end, that was probably one of the most rectifying and clarifying hours of my life.”

The doctor regarded his friend, one eyebrow raised, “I think you’d better explain.”

“It’s all about context, isn’t it, Bones? Especially for a dim human lummox like me.” The corners of his mouth lifted the tiniest bit. “Spock’s right, Tralnor’s right, you’re right. He and Mollie are deeply in love in their own _peculiar_ way, but it’s not _Love_ , not like I’ve got for him, not like he tried to declare to me.”

McCoy started clapping. “What finally made it sink into your thick head?”

“I had to actually see it, the way they interact with one another. There’s affection but no amour, devotion but no eroticism. He tried to explain it as safety and solace. . .” Kirk’s expression darkened. “. . .and then my dumb ass had to belittle his truth.”

The captain tossed and flopped around in his bed for an hour when he decided that sleep wasn’t happening and that he absolutely had to find Spock. Dressed, he nearly didn’t leave his quarters, that old crippling sensation cutting him off at the knees. _What if I can’t say it_? _What if he tells me to fuck off_? _And if anyone needs to be told to fuck off right now, it’s me_.

 _Come on, Jimmy. Let’s cowboy up and do this, damnit_. He forced himself down the corridor, depressed the buzzer, and whispered under his breath, “Spock, I love you too.”

  
  
  
_Jim, I know it is you_. Spock was seated at the head of his bed, knees drawn. _You are pain, you are a gullet of razor wire that I am incapable of swallowing. To that end, I must shut you away until I can recover from the agony you have given me_.

Another ring ignored, then Jim’s knuckles rapped on the door. “ _I am sorry, Jim_.”

  
  
  
By lunch, Laura felt like she’d been laid to waste by an anti-aircraft gun. All this time she’d thought the hidden world of Vulcan emotion was something akin to being an actor where your own low-intensity thoughts and feelings are still going on in the background while your outer self plays the part. Instead, she learned even mild reactions were so far off the human scale, that Veddah’s slight apprehension at entering a gallery where he sensed something was off, made the pulp in her teeth hurt.

They took their seats at a dark booth in the corner of an uncrowded restaurant. She took one look at the menu screen that popped up on the edge of the table and turned away, the light from the device and the maddening auras that hadn’t gone away seared her retinas.

“How is an adult marriage bond supposed to work? Is this open lines all the time, can we block one another out, and what the hell is wrong with my eyes?”

He hit her with a wall of reproach. Here she was, a mass-murdering human supremacist, and he was worried about what he’d done to her? He was wearing a fucking scarf right now because she’d thought nothing of choking him out! His concern on her behalf was ridiculous. Her response, more laughter.

Face placid, that of a picture-perfect Vulcan, the roiling self-ridicule that seared from his mind into her left tears in her eyes. (We need to spend time engaged in a proper meld so I can. . . I need to get to know your mind better, and when I do, then I can give you the instruction you need to shield against me.)

“That sounds fair.” _Pity the fool who gets to go trolling through my gutter of a brain_. “But we’re going to have to make it an accelerated course. My crew won’t stand for a Vulcan digging around in my head right in front of them. Silvio, specifically, be very wary of that man. He can act like an insubordinate little prick at times, but if he thinks you’re the slightest threat to me, you’ll wish he’d just come right out and killed you instead of making you linger in his chamber of the damned.”

A server arrived to take their order. After asking about the specials, Laura realized they’d not chosen wisely in their rush to get in somewhere and sit down. After a run of questions where the server grew increasingly frustrated, she wound up having to order two cheeseburgers, hold the burger, and iced tea. She tried to explain that the restaurant’s fries weren’t vegetarian because they were cooked in tallow. She’d spoken to smarter bulkheads.

(I have no explanation for your change in vision. I will have to explore your brain’s visual cortex.)

“Fine. But we’ve only got tonight and tomorrow night to make some inroads. After that, it’s going to be a while before we’re able to be truly alone again.” She didn’t know what she felt at that moment, but he was scared.

He’d secured something of a future for himself, but at what cost? _It’s only your soul_ , she thought. “Back on the ship, the only way we’ll be able to touch long enough to accomplish anything is to keep doing what got us here in the first place. At least no one will question my continued molestation of you.”

He shivered and looked down at the table, struggling to hold back the trauma. She felt the bindings cut into his wrists, the pressure of her weight against him, and terror of a nature she’d never known.

“Not like that, Veddah.” She leaned over and lifted his chin. “It won’t ever be like that again.”

  
  
  
Starbase 21’s court system asked for two days to give counsel time with the defendants to build their cases. But just because she wasn’t yet delivering testimony didn’t mean Sha’leyen wasn’t busy. She was working with Enterprise’s legal team, Captain Kirk, and Starfleet Command to establish Starbase 21 as the jurisdiction for all of the incidents at Melbek III, not just the grave-robbing case.

Technically, the inadequate Starfleet post at Overton Holdings was the proper jurisdiction, but Overton was a small operation on a private conglomerate station. They’d not taken Lt. Jefferson because they’d simply not had room in their three-berth brig, and she was still locked up on the ship unless Enterprise swung back to Overton to drop her off when they could find room for her.

So, the rubber-stamp soiree began, and at the speed of bureaucracy, Enterprise and Dragon could be looking at as many as ten days idle time waiting on the paperwork to come through, those days in addition to however long the planned court-martial took.

Commander Blaedel, Lt. Dresden, and all four of their clerks generated the requests as quickly as possible. Kirk signed what he could between calls to Commodore Holt and Captain Castaic, Starbase 21’s executive officer. Sha’leyen proofed all the crime prose and data that had to be tailored to each department/branch/officer the requests were sent out to. She was also present because Blaedel and Dresden wanted to finish deposing her on the grave-robbing case.

“Have you updated your CV to reflect your most recent commendations, Lt. Commander?” Dresden asked. “We want to submit that along with your official Starfleet personnel record.”

Sha’leyen picked up that Dresden was apprehensive. “Is something the matter?”

“Um, no.”

“What’s going on?” Sha’leyen latched on to Dresden’s weak attempt to wave her off. “Put it to me now, so I’m not tripped up while I’m on the stand.”

“There will be questions about your ability and expertise in commanding security personnel.”

“Blue Shirt Bias.” Sha’leyen said. “We’re scientists, so we supposedly don’t know the workings of Operations, and apparently we’re not cut out for Command. That makes us even larger liabilities and/or more ineffective when you set up landing parties where those from Ops or Command are on secondment to, rather than dispatched with, the group the ranking officer is leading.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.” Dresden wasn’t expecting such a frank response.

“You should. Alluding to the issue instead of directly describing it convolutes it further.” She set down her stylus and folded her hands. “And my entire Metropolitan Police Service file is included in my Starfleet record, both my civilian work as a C-SOCS and my official police work as a Special Constable and beyond.”

“ _Sea Socks_?” Dresden was lost.

“Civilian Scene of Crime Scientist.” Captain Kirk said. He’d caught the conversation between conference calls. “The defense can pick at her professional record all they want, but it won’t get them anywhere. As for her choice to take crew in addition to her team on secondment, she’s smart to do it that way, because it means that she’s definitively in-charge of everyone. Blue Shirt Bias is a very real issue, Lt. Dresden. If you’d like confirmation, Commander Spock can tell you more.”

“If that’s the best case they’ve got, they think I’m an overreactive idiot because I’m Science, they know they’re grasping at straws.” _It also means the whole ordeal will be dragged out as long as possible so they can nit-pick at make-believe weaknesses in my duty jackets. Those three should avoid the grief and plead guilty. I have a tavalik duv-tor to find, which can’t be done if I’m tangled up in this waste of time_.

  
  
  
Occupying the center seat, Spock was in the middle of the whispered conversations about last night’s abortive gathering in Rec Room 2. While he’d not previously given Joe Bergman much credit, the blustery producer with a limitless catalogue of penis jokes had impressed Spock with the genuine depth of affection and respect he had for his Vulcan friends. That, plus Joe had a real comprehension of the horrors of pre-Reform Vulcan, raised the Hawaiian shirt aficionado’s stock.

He’d not liked the idea of using Joe as a communication intermediary. Spock thought the human too boisterous to appreciate the delicacy and importance of T’Pau’s directive. It was plain now why Mollie chose to involve him also and not just Sohja.

(Tralnor, if I am not interrupting, may I ask you something?) Having this mind-link active again brought a layer of blessed normality back into Spock’s overall being.

(Ask whatever you want. I can label petri dishes and talk to you at the same time.)

(Joe is sympathetic in a manner I have rarely encountered even in humans who have spent extended time around our people. He was forceful enough with Nurse Chapel that I wanted to know more about his solidarity.) What if there was something Joe could offer other humans, other Christines, that might help them comprehend Vulcan ways while reserving ethnocentric judgement?

(He’s well-versed about the discrimination and hatred his people have encountered through the ages and as such is acutely aware of the same mentalities and behaviors inflicted against us. He told me once, when we first got to know one another, that he figured the only reason Jews still existed in our time is that Vulcans took their place as objects of blame and detestation.)

That was not the kind of answer Spock expected. He’d thought that Joe perhaps had something of a Vulcan fetish that manifested differently than Nurse Chapel’s. Joe was not attempting to become d’Vel'nahr because of a fixation on Vulcan culture and the underlying idea that he was too good for humanity. Stars above, humans of that vein got under Spock’s skin like no other, even Leonard McCoy. (His perception is not one I have explored before.)

(Its what the likes of Earth First and the AVDL were founded on: anti-Semitism reinvented for the interstellar age. Since I first heard his theory twenty years ago, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I believe it has more merit than is comfortable to admit.)

Business on the bridge picked up for about half an hour with the administrative work it took to keep a ship like the Enterprise running smoothly. While he reviewed and signed requisitions for re-supply from Starbase 21, another part of his brain continued to pick at last night’s confrontation. Chapel’s accusations of disfigurement and cruelty would not let up. _And yes, Vulcans loved their children_.

(Did you hesitate to send your daughters on the kahs-wan?) Parents who refused to participate in the tradition found a dearth of eligible bondmates for their children because other parents did not want their sons and daughters joined to partners who’d not acquired the discipline the year-long kahs-wan training imparted.

(No. They were ready.) Quick bits of Tralnor’s memories crossed over their link, in turn, he watched as each of his children set out into the perilous Forge. (And they came back.)

(I have no experience with the ulidar t’kafeh.) _Mark of Slavery_ was the direct translation. (Mollie described it to me as an ordeal in two parts. There is the physical discomfort of the procedure and a secondary component wherein the ink itself is a psychotropic that allows for the T’Kehr leading the ceremony to impart Lyr Saan vokayalar without encountering any walls.)

(That’s the First Marks. With each addition to the design, the T’Kehr guides you on an intensive self-examination. During the completion of the Ordinals, there is a specific rubric that’s followed. When the Family Name is inked, you’re the recipient of information particular to your family, and you explore your place within the family. All additions after that are for personal reasons: commemorations, contemplations on freedom, inspiration, whatever you want because its meaningful to you, but there’s something of a catch. For example, you know that Mollie and I have the phrase _Fight On!_ in ours.)

(Yes, for your time at USC. It is the school’s motto.) Spock remembered seeing it in Mollie’s right after she got it. (Puk-tor fa’rak.)

(Having one of these put into your skin isn’t like the way humans do it, from the process of needling the ink to the arbitrary and whimsical nature that so many humans fall into when deciding on a tattoo. You have to have a long consultation, sometimes over the span of a year or more, with the T’Kehr about the words you’ve chosen, what they mean now, what they may mean in the future, and if they’re appropriate within the Lyr Saan ulidar t’kafeh tradition. If the T’Kehr decides they’re willing to guide you, the arrangements are made for the calligrapher and other people involved in the installation of the words.)

(This is more involved than I thought it would be.)

(While Mollie and I have the same saying, originating from the same place, our journey to and receiving those Marks was different. When I was guided through Puk-tor Fa’rak, I had to scrutinize my motivation to try to fulfill my parents’ wish that I not abandon the rest of my youth because I was raped. I had to dissect my life at university as both a regular student and what it was like to be a seventeen-year-old father who desperately missed his child. You get the idea.)

(Sha’leyen’s comment about ulidar t’kafeh as the opposite of cruelty makes more sense. It appears that this process can be rather therapeutic.)

(Precisely. You’ve seen Joe’s tattoo?) Tralnor sent a mental image of the inside of Bergman’s left forearm. It was six characters, the letter A followed by a series of five numbers. (It’s a replica of his ancestor’s Auschwitz concentration camp tattoo. It’s also a Lyr Saan Mark. He and his T’Kehr spent close to four years getting him ready. For him, the experience was so profound, he says it saved his life.)

(He got it after Amelie Grace and Jock Balloch were murdered?)

(He did. . . Don’t fret, Joe will come through for us.)

That was one human on Spock’s mind that day he didn’t have to worry about betraying him. What of the other? What of the man with the eyes like quaking aspens whose undulating favor and rejection undermined his Vulcan controls? Mentally disemboweled by James Kirk, he was not certain how much longer he could exist in such a state.


	43. Chapter 43

She did not close her eyes as the friction skin of his fingers met and pressed into the psi-points on her face. _I have no secrets, Veddah_.

Laura’s full mind, open to his discretion, was neat and compartmentalized. He’d never undergone a complete meld with a human before, but the times when he’d been casually handled by humans, and he’d tasted their thoughts, even the calmest appearing people were typhoons of chaos. To have the self-discipline to impose this kind of order on oneself was something Veddah did not have. He’d needed his teachers, his culture, his peoples’ expectations to mold his mind into something functional.

He peeked into her mental corrals, like opening the door to a room and taking a quick glance, just as an exercise in learning her brain. She could have been exquisite if not for her defective logic justifying hatred. He wanted to ask why she’d attended the Consolidated Terran School when by what little he’d seen, she could have easily kept up with Vulcans in her age cohort. Maybe she’d come to his world preprogrammed with xenophobic ideas and had wanted to stay with her own kind as much as possible.

_You want to see it, Veddah_? _The birth of my why_? She projected her memory at him with a kind of control he was still working to attain. Laura was ten when she and her mother moved to ShiKahr. She took the city-wide entrance exams for native schools, expecting a placement. She’d scored into the top tier and waited for the news on where she’d been accepted. Only, she never got in. At first, there was no explanation, just the letter from the school system saying no and the referral to Consolidated.

School was the one thing she’d looked forward to on Vulcan. She wanted the challenge and needed to get away from the human curriculums that only seemed to cater to the lowest common denominator. Once that was taken away, her misery on the red planet was complete. It took her mother two years to get someone to slip-up and say why Laura was rejected. Mother and daughter figured it was because they didn’t want humans. The real answer, the academically gifted human girl was not a psion.

When all seven MacCormacks came to town, only to haunt the halls of Consolidated one afternoon a week, Laura was incensed. How did they simply waltz right into the same system that chased her away? What made them so fucking special as to get the dispensation she’d not received? Six of the seven of them happened to be true rarities, fully-functional human telepaths.

In the same grade, Mollie MacCormack, from all outward appearances seemed human, seemed like she could be a friend. The more Laura got to know about her, the more she grew to dislike her because the innocuous Mollie wasn’t human at all. She was Mallia Ad’ehlevna t’Lyr Saan, a Vulcan freak fabricated at a lab bench, an artificial life-form! A fake person.

Not only was Laura kept from realizing her full potential, but she’d also been kicked to the curb so someone who shouldn’t exist, someone who wasn’t even real, could take her place. As more time passed, she let her bitterness compound. She wanted to take out her frustrations. First, she targeted Mollie and her brood of psionically blessed siblings. Then, Mollie inadvertently introduced her to another fake person, her partner in crime and Reason for Existing, Ambassador Sarek’s son. Spock was long-rumored to be a non-telepath. What made it okay for a psi-null Vulcan to go to school and not Laura? She was just as intelligent, just as capable of the academic work, just as psionically dead, but didn’t have a famous father from an old Golic family to pull strings for her.

At age fifteen, Laura tried again to flee the hell of Consolidated. Her mother wouldn’t let her go back to earth, and the Vulcans cited the same reason for refusing to admit her to their secondary schools. So, she found another way to escape, searched online for others who harbored resentment at Vulcans, and entered a world of xenophobia that gave her succor and sensibility where the planet she lived on offered none.

_All I wanted was an opportunity to play them at their own game. If I failed, that was on me, and I’d join the rest of the dumbshits at Consolidated. They never even gave me a chance, Veddah._

  
  
  
No shore leave. Captain Kirk decided that sequestering the crew away from the court-martial was in the prosecution’s favor lest something happen to taint the opinion of Enterprise’s personnel as a whole. Of course, that meant more idle time, the devil’s playthings, and such. Kirk got Recreation to organize a Three- on-Three basketball tournament, had the kitchens focus on serving real food prepped to the directions of authentic recipes, and decided to offer a small prize to the person who got the highest score at the shooting range as motivation to get everyone who needed to re-certify done without having to chase them down.

He checked his mirror and held up a ruler to one of the artifacts on his dress uniform, making sure it was in the correct place. _Can’t have the defense thinking sloppiness at the top is to blame for people thinking it’s okay to desecrate the dead_.

Kirk called up to the bridge, spoke to Mr. Scott and Lt. Uhura, and set off toward the transporter room. He walked in to find Commander Blaedel, Lt. Dresden, and the clerks dematerializing from the platform. He’d be going over with Lt. Commander Sha’leyen, Dr. McCoy, Lt. Seltun, the Chief of Security, and Mr. Spock, or that’s what he’d thought.

“Captain, Commander Spock is delayed.” Sha’leyen said. “He needs twenty minutes to—”

_Avoid seeing me_ , Kirk thought as he blocked out the bioarchaeologist’s explanation. McCoy shot him a fed-up look as he stepped up on his favorite piece of starship technology.

“Damnit, let’s get this over with, so me and most of my molecules have time to recuperate before I get a lawyer in my face trying to trip me up about what I actually saw down there.” McCoy’s molars ground.

“What’s that, Sha’leyen?” Kirk pointed to the rounded black thing she’d tucked under one arm.

It turned out to be a hat. She set it on her head, the checkered band matching the blue in her uniform, the emblem on the front was a silver starburst with a crown at the top, _V II R_ in the center. The border between the rays and the center said: _Metropolitan Police_. “Commander Blaedel got in touch with the Quartermaster General. For events such as courts-martial, diplomatic escorts, and the like, I’ve previously been allowed to include my Met ribbon bar, and beneath that, you can see the small pins that are my chevrons and my collar number.”

Yes, Kirk had seen those before. They sat above the collection of Starfleet fruit salad she’d accrued over the years.

“My bowler, I’ve only worn it once with this uniform, when I was called before the Federation Council nine years ago. It was reserved for only the most formal of occasions. However, Blaedel feels it ads impact to the strength of the prosecution’s case, and I’ve been granted approval to include it indefinitely.” She removed it, took out the gloves she’d hidden inside and put them all on.

“If you weren’t still on the Met’s Space Reserve Operations Team?”

“I would only be allowed the medal bar and an additional pin that indicates that I once served in SO314.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I grudgingly share you with Scotland Yard when they ask every once in a while.” The captain liked this line of conversation. It was legitimate enough to not sound like he was wasting time and worked as a good stalling tactic to catch Spock, whom he’d not spoken to in two days.

The Vulcan was circumventing Kirk like he was trying to outrun a plague. All the captain wanted was to be in the same room with him, breathe the same air for a little while, in a place that wasn’t so crowded and sterile as a courtroom.

“Jim, are we gonna go?” Bones did not want to delay the inevitable.

“Yeah.” Kirk reluctantly joined his party. “We’d better get over there.”

  
  
  
(Do you think it’s a legitimate sighting?) Tralnor was spooling through a wad of surveillance footage from Vittel’s Star. Sha’leyen had called in a favor from an old friend of hers who was pretty high up in the station’s police hierarchy. She’d merely wanted to see if anything unusual was going on out there in an “archaeology” sense as she’d put it.

Deputy Chief Constable Michael “Mick” Howard replied in the affirmative. A wealthy couple had just departed, and they’d spent four days trolling the antique sellers and galleries looking for anything Vulcan they could find. The only reason they stuck out in his mind was that the couple was mixed, not something Vittel’s saw often, and they’d been attacked at a restaurant.

(I do not believe it is a coincidence.) Spock had joined him behind Sha’leyen’s desk to view a few minutes before leaving to Starbase 21 for the day. (Did Sha’leyen tell you what Deputy Chief Howard meant when he described the antique hunters as mixed?)

(No. No time, if she was told.) The images went by quickly when Tralnor hit the pause button. (There. Is that her?)

Two people, a man and a woman, walking hand-in-hand, were leaving a junk shop called The Real Ali-Baba Cave. He isolated them as a single image separate from their surroundings and cropped in on their faces. Like a stake through the heart, he’d know the woman’s face anywhere. Now for the head-shaking confusion. What the hell was Laura Hillyard doing in such close contact with a Vulcan? (Who is that?)

(I believe it is USS Seren’s junior science officer, Lt. Veddah.) Spock had Tralnor close in on the very young man’s face. (By their expressions, they appear to be speaking mind-to-mind.)

(Something is very wrong.) The scene set off a deep-seated alarm within Tralnor.

(I will have you excused from your duties in the media lab today. Learning more about this is of more significant concern.)

(I’ll try to put together some sort of narrative. And while I’m at it, I’d like to get back in touch with Deputy Chief Howard and see if I can’t get some more specific questions by him without raising his hackles.) Tralnor jotted a quick line into his notebook.

Spock held his hand out for the pen, turned the book toward him, and wrote down his Priority comm code. (I must go now before I am late for the proceedings.)

  
  
  
He did not know why, but the group he’d supposed to be beaming out with was still in the transporter room, even after he’d told Sha’leyen to give the go-ahead to leave. Spock decided not to inquire as to their collective tardiness and joined them.

“Nice of you to show up, Spock.” McCoy needled, his anxiety regarding this method of locomotion evident.

There was a gleam of accomplishment in Jim’s eyes like he’d just outsmarted a particularly witty enemy. He looked at Spock and smiled.

  
  
  
Returned to Sweetness’ center seat, Laura was glad to see the back of Vittel’s Star. Now, to Trego, where she could offload her precious cargo and pawn off two of her prisoners. Horse-laugh had a broken femur after a poorly executed attempt at taking out Liam. He’d go straight to the slave markets, to hell with him. Helmsman Loretta would spend some time with the AVDL brass where they’d bring her round to the cause. MV Summerwind needed a competent navigator, and they didn’t come much better trained than out of Starfleet. The rest of Seren’s leftovers, she decided to keep around for a bit longer.

“Hey Boss, you know you can take off that butt ugly ring now.” Silvio told her that her left hand looked like a jewelry shop had thrown up on it. He also knew how much she utterly fucking hated Arik Collier.

“I guess I forgot I was even wearing it.” Why was she hesitant to remove it? It wasn’t like she could announce to the ship that she’d gotten married and wanted to keep it on as an advertisement of what had happened. She owned other rings, ones that she actually liked, that no one would ask questions about. She’d switch to one of those and keep it’s meaning to herself.

She dug through her new messages and reached into her snack drawer to find— “Silvio, you’d better refill this right fucking now, or you’ll be joining our friends in the cargo hold for dinner.”

A couple of hoots and cajoles from the others left Silvio red-faced. “Yes, Ma’am.”

That brief burst of irritation rippled out of her brain and across the bond to Veddah. She felt him immediately want to know if something was wrong. Her vision, which had finally returned to normal yesterday afternoon, filled with the light show because of his subconscious protective response.

_Well, isn’t this fucking wonderful_? She looked from person to person as they went about their tasks, their auras seemed to align with their personalities. Serious Morgana had a smooth dark green. Dobbs, the engineer, was surrounded by a frenetic orangey layer of hedgehog spikes. Silvio returned, armload of junk food, featuring an aura of craggy violet.

_That’s what you get when you ask Clayton to do the simplest little shit tasks for you. Lazy bastard can’t even put candy and cream cakes in the drawer_.

“What did you say, Silvio?” She’d not seen his face since he’d bent down to dump her goodies in their spot.

“Nothing.” He said, shutting the drawer.

“I could have sworn you said something about Clayton being lazy.”

Silvio’s reaction was a disturbing cross of fear and wonder. “Nope.”

“Hmmm.” She reached for a packet of peanut clusters, salvaging the situation. “Low blood sugar makes your mind do some crazy things.”

  
  
  
Tralnor placed a call to Lt. Commander Bryce, Dragon’s chief science officer. Not having access to personnel files, this was the best way he could think of to get a little more information about Lt. Veddah. At this point, having viewed hours of video, it was plain to Tralnor that the young Vulcan was in crisis.

“There’s not a whole lot I can offer you, Doc. You folks aren’t exactly known for being personable.” Bryce grinned at himself. “I mean, you don’t really open up much, do you?”

“How about just giving me what you do know?” As mentally compromised as he was, Veddah might be just what the tavalik duv-tor needed to unleash unbridled misery.

“Graduated from the Academy two years ago when he was twenty, got his degree in xenobiology. Quiet, considerate, never heard Felton say a bad thing about him.”

He was young, too young to be away from home yet if Tralnor was honest. An ugly explanation for Veddah’s cagey behavior formed. “Is he married?”

“Search me, Doc. He wasn’t one of mine, and he doesn’t—didn’t— join in on the monthly poker games Felton and I hosted.”

“You don’t happen to know his family name or Clan?” Seren’s records and manifests were locked away as evidence until further notice. Any more competent officers he could ask were at the court-martial, and getting in touch with Vulcan would only suffice to put this kid in more peril.

_Are you stupid_? Was what Bryce’s face said. “Shit, I didn’t even know your lot had family names.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Bryce got up and didn’t sign off. “ _Every time you turn around, there’s another one of them green fuckers, that’s why I left the research vessels. Sick of finding ‘em around every corner, noses in the air_. . .”

Tralnor killed the connection.

  
  
  
Deputy Chief Mick Howard was one of Sha’leyen’s former Scotland Yard instructors. The hardware on his epaulettes reflected in the bad light.“I knew I hadn’t seen the last of her when she joined Starfleet. She’s on to something. . . _Once a copper, always a copper_.”

Tralnor nodded, then explained the reason for his call.

“And of course she has to drop something interesting into my lap. Vulcan antiquities?” The Deputy Chief was intensely curious. “I would venture there is a market for such things, there’s a market for everything, but not so much here. What do you suppose this couple was looking for?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

A file containing the couple’s financial transactions, ship information, and the IDs they used popped up in Tralnor’s inbox. “Did they leave anything behind?”

“Nowt, as they say in Yorkshire.” Mick Howard wasn’t going to give Tralnor anything. “You know, it’s the timing that’s got me intrigued. Sha’leyen’s call, our visitors, looking for the same rare category of item, what am I to make of that?”


	44. Chapter 44

The prosecution’s opening statement was a boilerplate recitation of the burden of their case and the proof that supported their version, Sha’leyen’s version, of the grave-robbing episode on Melbek III. The defense immediately plowed into borderline theatrics about “good kids” and “honest mistakes” taken out of context by a science officer who was in above her head in terms of leadership, unfamiliar with how to handle Security personnel, and also reacting badly to trauma induced by excavating forty murder victims.

 _So this is how it’s going to be_? _I’m the one on trial_? From behind, the defense team looked like it cost a bundle. Ensign Radovitch came from money, and the Rado-lite Ionic Converter empire was covering the tab for the white-shoe law firm.

“Thinoi t’wak.” She whispered under her breath. _Waste of time_.

Spock, sitting immediately to her right used their position in the back of the room, behind four other rows of seating, to touch the back of her hand long enough to indicate he was open to a telepathic conversation with her.

(Maybe this way we might get some work done yet today?) She said. (We talk and accomplish something while the circus plays out around us.)

(Your desire to make inquiries at Vittel’s Star has given us something.)

(What is that?) One of the defense attorneys turned to look back at the prosecution’s witness lineup, stopped to stare at her, and took on the appearance of a startled fish.

(Laura Hillyard was there. She was seen with a young man, presumed to be Lt. Veddah, from the Seren. As part of their cover story, they presented themselves as a married couple.)

(I’m getting bewilderment from you, though not quite as much as from the overpriced idiot squad at the front of the room.) _I wish I were allowed my epaulettes, so I had a place to stash my gloves_. She tried not to think about the gold brocade making her neck itch.

(Lt. Veddah is Vulcan.) Which didn’t rectify with Spock's experiences with Hillyard. (They were observed engaged in skin-to-skin psionic contact. Such behavior is most unusual.)

(Indeed. Like you, I avoid touching others when I can, especially people who have proven to be capricious. To so much as catch a glancing blow from such a malefactor? I would rather take to the Forge in the height of summer than clasp that person’s hand.)

Spock and Sha’leyen watched as the defendants dared turn around and cast their eyes to the gallery. Radovitch’s arrogance was unchanged from Melbek III. The two crewmen were watching their lives flash before their eyes.

(Ensign Radovitch does not recognize you, Sha’leyen.)

(No, he knows exactly who I am.) The more of her appearance the Ensign synthesized into his brain, the more self-assuredness faltered. (He never counted on me being anything more than an academic in a blue uniform.)

  
  
  
Deputy Chief Howard did grant Tralnor one interesting bit of information. The people who’d confronted Laura and Veddah at the restaurant were found dead of cyanide poisoning two days later. “Looks like an honest double-suicide. No note. No indication they were thinking of offing themselves, but they were found in bed, holding on to one another.”

“Before they died, were they part of any human supremacist organizations?” _Maybe_ , Tralnor thought, _I can sneak this one by_.

“Look, Lt. Commander Tralnor.” Howard squared his shoulders. “I’m going to be honest. I don’t know you. I’m sure you’re a good bloke, Sha’leyen wouldn’t have you working for her otherwise. If she has more questions, tell her to ring me back. I’ll give you my direct line to forward to her.”

“Thank you for your time, Deputy Chief Howard.” Tralnor understood where this guy was coming from.

Looking side-to-side then settling back on the screen, Howard said, “Tell her I’m available at any time, night or day.”

“I will do so.”

Howard was fine until Tralnor brought up human supremacists. That reaction was not from someone who’d not had run-ins with those types before. _Sha’leyen will shake the knowledge from your tree, Deputy Chief_.

He’d found drawing pencils and big sketch pad on a shelf and started recreating Laura and Veddah’s facial expressions on paper. He drew what he saw, gave each variation an alphanumerical designation, and labeled them with the timestamp from the footage each drawing was modeled on.

He finished with Veddah’s, amassing a collection of fourteen images. The subtle variations told Tralnor this boy was in trouble. Scared, conflicted, there was a trauma-induced loss of his emotional controls. In need of acute psiopsychiatric care, the last place he should be was in Laura Hillyard’s mind.

There were more variations to Laura’s face. That first day and evening, very little was unfamiliar to Tralnor. Her resentment, her air of superiority, her breakthrough moments when slivers of amusement or appreciation slipped out, he’d seen all of that before. It was the way she looked at Veddah sometimes, empathy and sadness exuded for him, about him, that took Tralnor unawares. He’d seen her pity those she found pathetic, but this was not pity. . .

“She’s remorseful. It’s something she did.” He pulled up the candy shop footage again. “She’s not guilty, guilt cuts out the other parties. Guilt doesn’t go far enough. Laura Hillyard is ashamed.”

  
  
  
Mollie was thinking about the package that arrived at her office three mornings ago. Someone sent her a decapitated cat with a note pinned to it that said: _Race Traitor_!

That incident put her on indefinite leave from her teaching and research position at the university and left her with a permanent escort wherever she went. Joe Bergman drew mornings. T’Lal got her in the afternoon as to impart more knowledge on artifacts of malice. Joe popped back over between when he signed off for the day at his regular job and when Livia arrived at the hotel to stay the night. Sarek and Justin were always hovering out on the edges.

“Joe, it’s okay to go home.” Livia had just messaged to tell Mollie she’d been called in on an emergency surgical consult. As one of only three full-time Neuro-psi Healers in the city, Livia’s hours were hectic at times.

“And risk Bruce Banner getting mad at me if something happens to you? I don’t think so, Mollie.” Joe collected the playing cards he’d strung around the table.

“Who’s Bruce Banner?”

“ _Ambassador Scary Uncle_. He’s all calm and unassuming right now, but one fuck-up from me and he’ll go full Incredible Hulk on my ass.” He got up and crossed to the window. “And I can think of ten different ways of dying right this second that are far preferable to being torn limb from limb by a Vulcan.”

She didn’t get the cultural reference, something cinema-related no doubt, but Scary Uncle? Sarek was not someone you wanted angry at you.

“This is the point in the conversation where the girl usually tells her boyfriend that her mean old daddy is just a teddy bear on the inside.”

“But?”

“I can’t lie to your face like that, Joe.”

He curled himself up in the drapes until only his beat up penny loafers showed. “I’m not leaving you alone until your mom gets here.”

“Then you’ve got another six hours, at least.”

“Fine.” The lump in the curtains said.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Um—yeah, sure.”

“Can you take me out to the police station in Hollywood?”

He peeled his face free to stare at her like she was skipping gears. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Then I’ll have the concierge call me a cab.” She grabbed her jacket.

“ _Damnit, Mollie_.”

  
  
  
Captains Kirk and Kuznetsov gave their testimony on the lead-up to the incident, setting the mood. Kirk, who didn’t see the scene in situ wasn’t crossed but was reserved for recall. The defense asked Kuznetsov for the disgusting details of the massacre, trying to goad her into an emotional outburst about the horrors visited upon Melbek III. Kuznetsov wouldn’t give them the satisfaction and remained entirely professional. When they finally accepted that she wasn’t going to put on a show and dance for their organ grinder, court was recessed for lunch.

Spock and Sha’leyen spent their break talking to Tralnor, catching up on his discoveries. “I’ll talk to Mick when we get back tonight. He’s a suspicious old copper, but he’ll tell me everything I want to know.”

Sha’leyen could not stop thinking about Laura’s Vulcan prisoner and how much he reminded her of Tralnor when they were first united as teens. The semblance was spooky. “I think she raped him.”

The conversation stopped.

“He has the same haunted qualities that I saw in you, Tralnor, the same distance in his eyes. The mannerisms, movements, exaggerated responses to her when she acts a certain way toward him, that was you, Tal-kam t’nash-vey.” _My Beloved, even you are still in the process of healing, as am I. Such violation is never completely sublimated. That is why we can so readily recognize it others. You’d have drawn the same conclusion in the soon_. “Laura stepped over her own line and broke one of the few scruples she has. We’re missing something though, what made them turn to one another by the time they disembarked on MV Sweetness?”

“Sha’leyen, you do not think she is simply regretful of intimacy with a non-human? I am not certain Laura is capable of feeling shame.” Spock spoke from experience.

“She knows better, was not raised in the context of the AVDL. There’s just enough residual humanity left inside her to set off the proper reaction as instilled during her formative years.” The men were doubtful of her explanation. “In my youth, I encountered those we called Vau-nay.”

“ _The Hesitant_?” Spock asked for clarity on the Vulcan-based word.

She nodded. “Those who were impressed into the military body of a warlord’s troops after the age of ten or twelve, the ones stolen from post-Reform communities, they tend to retain the Tago t’Sochya.”

The Rule of Peace, the Lyr Saan moral code, was taught from birth. “Vau-nay, just as vicious as those they serve, are different in that they know what they are doing is wrong. Sometimes they can get back in touch with the teachings and extricate themselves. Others are known to show mercy. That does not mean I think Laura is redeemable in any way, just that she still has the _capacity_ for shame.”

  
  
  
Court back in session, the prosecution called Sha’leyen to the stand. The Belonite’s purposeful stride set the tone that she was not some simpering lab jockey like Lt. Chavez. Jacket and trousers, Jim Kirk had never seen the bioarchaeologist don the so-called “female” uniform. She refused to play humanity’s gender discrimination game. He applauded her for that, wishing more women in the Fleet followed her example.

Sitting as third and fourth chair, Blaedel and Dresden exuded confidence the defense could not touch the Lt. Commander. Name, rank, serial number, Starfleet commendations and medals followed by the recitation of her educational background.

“Would you please explain the non-traditional elements included with your dress uniform, Lt. Commander?” Lead prosecutor Commander Levy had chosen to let Sha’leyen, rather than the stupid court computer, discuss her law-enforcement background.

“Yes, Sir.” She removed her bowler and placed it, crown-up, in her lap, silver crest facing out where the room could still see. That ribbon bar? She wore the Queen’s Police Medal, Queen’s Commendation for Brave Conduct, Metropolitan Police Commissioner’s Commendation, Chief Constable’s Commendation, Distinguished Scene of Crime Investigation Award, and two additional commendations, the Nevis VI Police Star and Proxima Rusalka’s Medal for Life Saving.

 _That’s right, Sha’leyen. Show those hoity-toity New York City sleaze bag lawyers_. Finally, something to give Kirk a taste of satisfaction after one of the most turbulent months of his life.

She told of her six years in the employ of London’s Metropolitan Police Service while she was a post-graduate student at University College London. While a lot of the brass back at Command didn’t think much of officers who came to Starfleet as their second careers via OCS, Kirk found them invaluable members of his crew. Some of the best and brightest people he’d commanded and served with/under, were like Sha’leyen. They brought knowledge and abilities from outside the Fleet’s somewhat insular world. Plus, an Academy ring wasn’t a guarantee of competency or intelligence.

“My original intentions were to stay with the Met after the conference of my Ph.D. I’d been granted a new assignment, fast-tracked to Detective Sergeant, and placed within the Criminal Investigative Division of Major Crimes Team East, one of five such divisions. As a DS, I supervised Detective Constables and uniformed officers assigned to my investigations. I was in that placement full-time for the six months leading up to University College London’s commencement.”

Kirk shared a sidelong glance with his first officer. They were both pleased with how this was going. The more details she gave to her duties and training, the more the defense squirmed and that little shit, Radovitch, looked like he wanted to turn-tail and run.

“How is it that you are here, rather than working as a Detective Chief Inspector for Scotland Yard, Lt. Commander?”

“What I did not count on was a chance meeting with a Starfleet recruiter at a conference I was presenting a paper at in Seattle. After some soul searching, I came to the conclusion that my particular skill set would serve more people in need through Starfleet than if I remained in London.”

“You resigned from the Metropolitan Police?”

“I did not.”

“Lt. Commander, elaborate.”

“I was reassigned from CID to the Special Branch’s SO314, the Space Reserve Operations Team.”

Commander Levy paused to let that sink in. “ _Space Reserve Operations Team_. Correct me if I’m wrong, Lt. Commander Sha’leyen. SO314 was established as an extra-solar investigative and apprehension unit, wherein Met Reserve Officers scattered throughout the Alpha Quadrant can be activated and dispatched to aid in cases where expediency is a must.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How does that process work, specifically regarding you?”

“The Met contacts Starfleet Command with their request. If they and my shipboard commanding officers deem that I am not instrumentally vital to the ship’s current mission, I am placed on immediate leave from Starfleet and sent out as a Detective Sergeant.” She didn’t give the defense the luxury of a glance in their direction, which made them sweat even more.

“In the eleven years you’ve been a Starfleet officer, how many times have you had calls to police duty?”

“Thirteen.”

Levy tried not to smile. “So, about once a year. In order to stay in SO314, are you required to undertake any continuing education or training?”

“I am. Several of Starfleet’s mandatory recertifications, such as life-saving, weapons training, physical fitness testing, are directly transferrable to my Met CE qualifications. Other courses, such as investigative techniques, forensic science methods, and interrogation methods, I can and have sat in with Starfleet Security for their trainings. Some I’ve done with Starfleet Judge Advocate, others with Starfleet Criminal Investigation Service. For Met specific CEs, some are delivered via computer, I’ve gone back to London for three of them, and the rest are scheduled in various locations throughout the Federation.”

“How many hours of continuing education are you required to have each year?”

“One-hundred-and-sixty.”

Ensign Radovitch, the man who’d stolen part of a fellow officer’s dead body, was now the color of a corpse, He pitched his face down. His arrogance, his name, his father’s money, none of that was going to save him.


	45. Chapter 45

Mollie got a message from Tralnor as she and Joe waited in traffic. Her brother wondered if she could possibly learn more about Laura’s early life and see if Hillyard had any sort of criminal record on earth. He wanted to help build a forensic profile of her to seek out any exploitable weaknesses. They needed any advantage over her.

 _Funny you should be asking about criminal records and the like. I’m on my way to the Hollywood Station Detective Bureau. And Tralnor, don’t say it_. . . She waited the minutes it took for messages like this to wind their way through space. Caught in rush hour, she had the time.

“Look, Mollie, I know some cops you can talk to. These are the guys I use as consultants on my projects. One of them, Stacia Villalobos, she’s a Lieutenant at Robbery-Homicide, and can get you anything you need to know.” Joe honked at someone who tried to cut him off.

“Don’t worry so much, Joe.” She read Tralnor’s reply: _Good luck, and don’t take any shit_.

“You’re my friend. It’s my job to worry.”

When they finally parked in the station’s visitor lot, she told Joe to wait in the car. He refused and followed her in as far as the desk sergeant let him go. She told him to behave and that she’d be back down as quickly as she could.

The station hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been in, even the people looked the same. Several waved or said hello, calling her by name. Arriving at the detective bureau, she took a deep breath to wipe her anxiety and settle her emotions before she stepped through the door.

“Hey, Dr. Mollie. Haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?” A middle-aged man caught her just as he was leaving the break room. “Get you a coffee?”

“That’s okay, Zack.” She wasn’t up to revisiting old times, there was work to be done. “And I’m doing pretty good. I try to stay occupied.”

“Well, you look great.” Zack never stopped trying to flatter her. “I need to speak to your partner if she’s available.”

He wiggled his brow in an _are you sure about that_? When she held her ground, he indicated with his head toward the collection of cubicles in the big room. “She’s in her usual spot.”

“Thank you, Zack.”

“Sure is good to see you.”

Mollie made it halfway to her destination when the person she’d come to see jumped up and ran to her. Arms engulfed her, happiness/lust/relief/loneliness barraged Mollie’s mind, a hand migrated downward and grabbed her ass, soft lips met hers. . . Mollie did not respond.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” The detective smiled and settled her open palm on the side of Mollie’s face. “I never thought I’d see you again, and here you are, and I’m touching you, close to chewing your clothes off and fucking you. Please tell me you’ve finally come to your senses and you’re coming home.”

Mollie recited the case number for the dead cat incident, completely ignoring any advances. “I need to call in some favors, Zadie.”

Zadie let go and took a step back. “Of course. How could I be dumb enough to think that you wanted to see me?”

The detective’s workspace, like the station, had not changed in the two years since Mollie had seen it last. LAPD bulletins and satirical cartoons were tacked to the walls. Zadie’s desk still had a framed photo of the two of them arm-in-arm on the one vacation they’d taken together in Hawaii.

Detective Zadie Pambakian was Mollie’s Captain James T. Kirk.

“You know, I heard about your surprise package and wondered how long it would take before you came crying to me.” Zadie reeked of I told you so. “I knew by the end of the week, you’d be in my arms again, Mollie. I’ve been waiting for you, Baby.”

“AnthroVision Defense League, that’s who sent the cat. They’re also watching my house, staking out my office on campus, and have got my family scared out of their minds that something is going to happen to me.”

Interestingly, Zadie didn’t roll her eyes or make a rude comment about Mollie’s family. Instead, she sat down and logged in to her terminal, pulling the case up on the screen. She read through it and reviewed the photos of the note. “We’ll never catch them for this. This is small-time henchman shit. What else have you got?”

“I need information on a woman named Laura Hillyard. Born 18 May 2230, here in Los Angeles. She’s in the top of the AVDL hierarchy.” Mollie refused to sit down when offered the chair at the side of the desk.

“Will you sit the fuck down already?” Zadie pointed to the chair. “You know it makes me crazy when you just stand there, _thinking_ , hands all behind your back and all that Vulcan shit.”

 _What the hell did I ever see in you_? Mollie asked herself that question on a regular basis. She’d first met Zadie when installing and showing the detectives how to use a software package she’d been commissioned to create by the LAPD. It used behavior algorithms to predict crowd disruption and pick out individuals who were acting in a suspicious manner. Hollywood Station was the guinea pig. Mollie spent a lot of time administering the beta testing and bug-killing. The first time she and Detective Pambakian clapped eyes on one another, sparks flew.

It was great at first. Mollie, who’d never been in a romantic/sexual relationship with a human before, didn’t have any experience to fall back on when the rot started to show. Previous long-term relationships, both with Vulcans, could not possibly have prepared her for what Zadie was going to unleash. T’Venna, bound by her bond to a man she wanted nothing to do with, still went ahead with the marriage to please her family. That relationship ended cordially, and Mollie was friends with her to this day. Neither Sovin’s family, nor his friends, could accept that he was involved with mind-raping dream-stealer, so he and Mollie called it. She’d not stayed in touch with him, hoped he was doing well and would have bet that he wound up married to the first non-Lyr Saan woman his Clan could find.

“How do you spell this girl’s last name?” Zadie’s shoulders hiked as her irritation at Mollie built.

She spelled it out and gave her Laura’s middle name as well.

“Damn. This bitch is crazy. How are you involved in this besides the fact that you probably offended some dick-faced bigot by wearing your weird clothes?” Zadie never liked how Mollie dressed, insisting her wardrobe was too Vulcan. “And bam, poor puss is in your mailbox.”

“I went to school with Laura.”

“Wait a second, you know her?” Zadie swiveled around. “I can’t imagine you associating with a terrorist. And a murderer, she’s a cold-blooded killer.”

“We were students at the Consolidated Terran School in ShiKahr. She was bad then, but wasn’t quite like she is now.”

“Okay, I guess. So, now that I’m in here and digging through shit that you shouldn’t be seeing, do you want this as a hard copy or digital?”

Mollie pulled a set of brand new data chits from an inside pocket and handed them over.

“She is scary. Shot and wounded a police officer while making her escape from the pre-trial holding facility after stabbing her hubby.” Zadie inserted the first one and began the download. “This is going to take a while because the city still refuses to upgrade our IT stuff. You’re lucky you work in the private sector, Baby.”

Mollie would stand for the next two hours if that’s what it took to get what she needed. While she had wanted to see progress made on the cat issue, thinking that Zadie would have gone to great lengths to impress “the one that got away,” she’d take all the AVDL dirt on tap. The detective was ready to do anything to get Mollie to take her back.

“Tell me, how are you?” Zadie’s voice and eyes warmed as she carefully looked Mollie over. “I’ve been so miserable without you. There’s a crater in my heart where you used to be, and I can’t fill it.”

“I stay busy.”

“And single?” That sexy smile used to work on Mollie. She’d found seduction was more pleasurable than conflict.

“I stay busy.”

Zadie huffed and whirled back around to read the screen as it dragged up more on Laura. She let loose with a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I get it now.”

Mollie clamped down on her emotions, thinking, _Here we go_!

“Starfleet has censor blocks on the newest stuff, but you knew that coming in here.” Zadie pulled her head and neck straight. “I should have fucking known.”

Zadie stood as to look Mollie in the face. An inferno stoked behind the detective’s eyes. “I should have known from the start that this was for _Side Piece_.”

Mollie kept watch on the computer, waiting for the download to finish, so she could snatch the chit and run out of there like she’d been set on fire.

“Is he a better lay than I am, is that what it was? A gentle lover who thinks only of you? No risk, no variety?” She made a face. “I made you scream with pleasure, left you quivering and begging for more, and you still went back to _him_.”

“You’re the one who insisted on having an open relationship, Zadie.” Mollie kept calm. “You wanted shag all the girlies at the club and still come home to the old ball and chain. You wanted me there, bells on, legs spread, so when you stumbled through the door in the wee hours half-drunk and reeking of pussy, you could finish getting off, no thanks to those of us you’d used that night.”

“Baby, it’s so cheap when you say it that way.”

“And when you said open relationship, I didn’t know it, what you actually meant was _open for you_. Your main girl, she’d better keep to herself and have dinner on the table after you’ve spent a long day chasing down bad guys. You were the one allowed to go out and wantonly fuck anything that moved. I have an encounter with someone you know about, someone I’ve explained my connection to? Hell hath no fury like a hypocrite scorned.” Mollie did sleep with Spock eighteen months ago when they met up on Starbase 12. Zadie had encouraged her to. She remembered that last call from RV Tekkah to earth, Zadie talking about how hot it was to think about Mollie having sex with this man, how she wanted Mollie to tell her all the steamy details later.

“You know what, Mollie? I’ve been waiting to say this for years.” Zadie put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Side Piece must be amazing in bed. That’s the only thing I can think of that would make you do what you did. I always figured you were fucking the dad too. Tell me, who’s the better lover? The soldier or the elder statesman?”

 _Forget it_ , Mollie thought and started to walk away. She’d made it to the doorway of the break room when Zack cut her off.

“I found some tea bags, so I made you some tea.” He held up a mug filled to the top with scalding swamp water. “I remembered that you liked it.”

“Zack—”

“Mallia!” Zadie closed in, red-faced, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “ _Mallia, I’m so fucking sorry_. Just don’t go, not like this. I’ll get you anything I can.”

And Zadie would get her anything.

 _You need this, Mollie. Suffer through for the sake of the billions in danger if the tavalik duv-tor makes it into Laura’s hands_.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut about your boyfriend.” Zadie turned on her heel and made for her cubicle.

“So, you’re not getting back together?” Zack sounded genuinely saddened by the lack of reconciliation.

“Not now, not ever.” Mollie finally accepted the cup he kept shoving at her.

“You were the best thing to ever happen to her, you know.” He wanted to plead with her to take Zadie back. “When you were together, she was even pleasant to work with. These days, she’s gotten, I hate to say it, bitter. She’s bitter.”

 _Let her be bitter_. “I can’t have people like that as fixtures in my life.”

“What’s this about a boyfriend?” Zack was the biggest hen at the station when it came to gossip.

“There is no boyfriend, Zack.”

  
  
  
Mollie borrowed a swivel chair from an unoccupied desk and positioned herself so she sat behind and to the right of the detective, completely out of her line of sight.

“What I said, about the dad, that was pretty shitty of me.” Zadie had switched over into suck-up mode. Mollie recognized it now. Years ago, naive about human relationship dynamics, she’d not understood that Zadie was psychologically abusive, a manipulator who’d do anything to get what she wanted to fulfill her own pleasure objectives. Even being a telepath didn’t offer Mollie any advantages because when Zadie said she was sorry, she meant it, at that moment, at least until the next time she went off and started a fight. Psionics, it turned out, was no match for mental illness.

“Sarek, and his wife, Amanda, were in the delivery room with my mother when I was born. To imply that I would do something like that to two of the most important people in my life? You are seriously lacking in morals and decorum.” Mollie saw Zadie pulling and adding everything she could find about AVDL and its members to the download queue.

“Mallia, my Bitter Sea?”

“That’s the Hebrew meaning of a name that transliterates the same as mine does in Standard.”

Zadie’s shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “ _Fucking unreal_. So what does your name mean in Pointy-Eared Land?”

“In Old Lyr Saan, it means _like the snow_.”

“ _Snow_? On Vulcan?”

“Mount Ah’delevna, where my family took their name from, has snow on the top of the peak year-round.”

The detective typed another search term into the criminal database. “I didn’t even know your first name wasn’t human. I guess I shouldn’t be shocked, right?”

“I wouldn’t think so.” When Mollie and Zadie first started seeing one another, the cop seemed to revel in the ways the professor was different from the average person. That began to change when Zadie realized it wasn’t an act on Mollie’s part. She wasn’t a wannabe mimicking another culture just to make other people uncomfortable. She was born into it, lived it, breathed it, and it became a thorn of resentment in the detective’s side.

Zadie huffed like a pre-teen told to do the dishes. “Have you ever thought about how much easier life would be if you’d act like the human that you actually are?”

“I’m not human, Zadie. You’ve said so yourself.”

  
  
  
“Took you fucking long enough up there.” Joe was up and ready to leave immediately. “Ambassador Scary Uncle called me three times to see where you were. He went to the hotel, you weren’t there, and he’s been riding my ass since.”

“Did you tell him where I was?” She followed him out into the chilly evening air coming in off the ocean. Why it hadn’t occurred to her to bring a jacket, she didn’t know.

“If he asked, I would tell him if you were in the bathroom tweezing your nose hairs. When he asked if you’d gone to see Zadie, he— _That man was not pleased_.” He popped the locks on the car.

“Sarek has never had a high opinion of Zadie. He tried to warn me off her, but I was too inexperienced to understand his advice.” She was in and buckled before he walked around to his side.

“That woman is a fucking wood chipper. I’ve met some barracudas in my time, but damn.” Joe took a right onto Wilcox and a left on Sunset.

“Where are we going?” Mollie wanted to hide away for a while and recuperate.

“We’ve been invited to dinner at Hayal-Masutra.”

“Only if we make a stop at your house so you can put on a suit.” She’d pass in her Lyr Saan business clothes.

“A suit? Mollie, do I look the kind of guy who owns a _suit_?” He chuckled. “Aloha shirt, blue jeans, penny loafers. I wore this to the Oscars last year.”

“The next charity shop you see, pull in. If you think Scary Uncle is bad, Disapproving Uncle is far, far worse.”


	46. Chapter 46

Unable to use her impeccable professional record against her, the defense tried to pick on her ethnic background. They wanted to get Sha’leyen to lash out emotionally since they seemed to think that all Belonites behaved like wild animals. Commander Levy objected to nearly every question or comment that came out of the lead defense attorney’s mouth. _Inflammatory, accusatory, speculative_ , Levy threw those words out like confetti.

One last stab, the defense tried, “Lt. Commander, from the bits and pieces that are admissible to the official records, you describe yourself and your people of origin as _Vulcanid_ , correct?”

“Yes, counselor.” Sha’leyen confirmed.

“Your Honors, relevance?” Levy interrupted.

“Keep your questions focused Mr. Garth.” Commodore Schumann directed.

“And that means that Belonites were influenced by pre-Reform Vulcan culture?”

“It means we are genetically identical, with the exception of a few stray bits of code that have mutated over the last two millennia. And yes, Belonite cultures were heavily influenced by the homeworld.”

“If the court doesn’t mind me pointing out the obvious, Lt. Commander, you don’t exactly look Vulcan.”

“Belonite appearance is merely phenotypical variation within the possible expression of the Vulcan genome. Belon is colder, wetter, and has a heavier atmosphere than Vulcan. It also has a sun with the same intensity and wavelengths as 40 Eridani, which is why it’s believed Vulcan colonists came to Belon in the first place. Send a group of Belonites back to Vulcan, given two or three generations, appearances will start to change back.”

Garth nodded. “That’s a fair enough explanation. How does this phenotypical variation relate to one’s emotional state?”

Many a blue-uniformed spectator in the gallery broke out into laughter at that question. Commodore Schumann called the room back to order. Sha’leyen said, “Absolutely nothing, counselor. Phenotypes are the manifestation of physical appearance within the constraint of one’s genetic code in response to the environment.”

She knew what he was trying to do. Nothing else had worked so far, why not paint her as a deranged Vulcan? That had all of the hysteria Garth was looking for, plus a scandal for the most uptight people in the Federation.

“Let me rephrase that, Lt. Commander. Your everyday behavior is not entirely in accordance to the Vulcan norm. Can you explain that?”

“Objection! Speculation.”

“I’d like to answer this one.” Sha’leyen said, looking up to the tribunal.

“Go ahead. We will decide after you’ve given your statement if it will stay on the record.”

“Like Earth, Vulcan, and as a subset of that, Belon, has multiple cultures, languages, and traditions. I was raised in accordance with the expectations of my Clan. My Clan is Vulcan, we followed the Reform, but we did so in a slightly different way than the majority Golic Vulcans whom you are most familiar with. To my Clan, to the homeworld, I am well within the accepted spectrum of ‘normal’ as you put it.”

After four hours on the stand, Sha’leyen was finally dismissed after a short redirect. Court was done for the day.

Sha’leyen was talking to Spock, planning for a meeting before beaming back over to Starbase 21 in the morning, when Captain Kirk approached. He tried to say something to Spock that didn’t have anything to do with work and the first officer simply walked away.

“Good job up there today, Lt. Commander.” Kirk said, regrouping to save face.

“Thank you, Captain.” She followed just like he’d wanted. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

(Spock?) Sha’leyen felt the Vulcan had not gone far. (How long are you going to ignore him?) (As long as it takes.)

  
  
  
The lads’ cabin was crammed with bodies playing for a pot of chocolate buttons, jelly frogs, and individually wrapped soft caramels. Alton and Sarah were sitting on Tralnor’s bed when he arrived from Sha’leyen’s office.

“Rohit just folded.” Sarah said. “So now its Chris and Vince playing for the whole pile.”

O’Dell winked and blew Tralnor a kiss. Biltmore rolled his eyes at Chris. “Read ‘em and weep Communications.”

“Engineers are cocky by nature.” Chris laid his cards out. “And you’re no exception, Vince.”

The room broke into howls of delight at Chris’ win. “Straight flush beats a full house every time.”

“Poker seems to be the only thing you Academy boys are better than us at.” Biltmore sniggered. That brought down a round of shaking heads and snarky replies.

Andy started humming the Flying Monkey theme. The door opened, right on time, revealing Lt. Seltun, still wearing his dress uniform. He looked at the throng of people, and just wanted to get the hell out of his itchy jacket.

“Part the seas so the Krampus can get through.” Andy said.

The younger Vulcan looked at Sarah as people shuffled to clear a path. She wasn’t paying attention as she was engaged in conversation with Alton. Seltun changed quickly and tried to leave just as fast. Tralnor caught up to him a few meters down the hall.

“Lt. Commander?”

“Let’s you and I find a lounge where we can talk.” Seltun briefly considered what Tralnor said.

“Yes, Sir.”

  
  
  
Hayal-Masutra, Vulcan for Pacific Ocean, was a popular, high-end establishment that attracted a diverse cross-sample of Los Angeles. Mollie and Joe approached Sarek and T’Lal, when Joe excused himself, making a beeline for a table of loud Hollywood types.

“Hey, Lenny!” Joe, now wearing charcoal twill trousers, a pink button-down shirt, and an obscenely bright multi-colored tie, capped off his ensemble with a teal ladies’ three-quarter sleeve kimono-style bathrobe sans the belt. It was technically within the dress code.

Once seated, Mollie took out one of the data chits. “I know neither of you likes the thought of me even being in the same room with Zadie Pambakian again, but she got me everything she could out of ViCAP and Interpol. This copy is for you two.”

“Have I got a fucking gorgeous picture for you to look at!” Joe thundered three tables away. “It’s not new, but it’s never seen the light of day because it got caught up in the Magnum Star distribution shit show. Went through the student festival circuit, won a lot of prizes, and me and my co-producers finally got our hands back on it in January. Check this out.” He slipped a handful of screeners containing Celluloid Vokaya to the men at the table.

T’Lal took the chit. She and Sarek would view the contents on equipment Justin cleared as safe for them to use.

Joe flitted to another table, hugging and kissing the cheek of some generic starlet. “Allora, you know I don’t make the casting decisions at that level. I get what the casting directors give me.”

“Joey, come on, you could be the one to give me my big break.” She pouted at him.

“Kill it in the audition, make it to the final round, call me then.” He drifted to yet a third table.

“Joey!” Allora lost him and returned to her meal.

“He’s going to hide us in all of that banter and bravado.” Mollie spoke softly.

“Tie and jacket is all they said, boys!” Joe smacked the table causing the silverware to jump. “I think I look as sexy as I feel.”

The movie exec at the table took a feel of Joe’s robe. “I think you look like the dick that you are, Bergman.”

“Kinder words were never spoken, Steve.” Another chorus of barking laughter filled the air. “Got a couple of new projects in the pipe. This one I’m gonna give you is about six months out. Let me know what you think.”

“Seeing him in action, not as he actually is around you, Sarek, and myself, I believe our intentions will remain well hidden.” T’Lal was amused by Joe.

“Sorry about that.” Joe was back at their assigned table and taking his seat. “But, I’ve got to be that asshole.” He leaned in, so he wasn’t seen by the people he’d been schmoozing with. “Oliver Fromm, second guy at the first table, he’s the owner of ShuttleDirect, besides being a high-flying studio exec. I stay in good with him because he does well by my projects and he’ll loan me one of his birds, no questions asked, for a box of Cubans and a nice word around town. On Oliver’s right, his husband, Fang Xian, is a defense sub-contractor for the Boeing-Grumman Consortium. I don’t think I need to say any more about that right now.

“Second table, I wasn’t there to say hello to Allora. She’s here with her agent, Tiffani Spear. Now that Tiffani knows I’m here, she’ll be over in about half an hour to see if we can’t have a talk, out in the car park, about one of her clients. That client, no names, has a rumored and rather ingenious way that they supposedly do business with the proscribed ToVan worlds. They go and come back at their leisure, no flags or holds in Federation Customs. I’ll see if I can figure that out for our Kennuk to use.

“Table number three, Stepan Ludovic, does some distribution work for a couple of the big-name studios, always on the lookout for the next little indie hit, holds the keys to the most extensive extant collection of props, costumes, and sets in Hollywood. I figure should we need to dress up our borrowed ride, find things like functional EVA suits used only as props, anything, it never hurts to have a Steve in your pocket.” Joe slid back down into his chair. “Thank you for inviting me to share in your family time, Ambassador. I wish I didn’t have to be so loud or disruptive.”

Mollie cleared her throat, but Joe didn’t follow.

“I was sure you were brother and sister.” Joe said to T’Lal and Sarek. “No? Cousins? You’re obviously related. I can see it in your faces.”

When no one said anything for several long seconds, Joe made an open mouth, insert foot face. “Well, here’s me shutting the hell up so we can have a nice dinner.”

  
  
  
Closed away from the rest of the ship, Tralnor and Seltun settled into the well-padded furniture the lounge provided. “You’ve been seeking something since we left Melbek III. What is it that you need to know, Seltun?”

“As I child, I was told about all of the terrible qualities the Lyr Saan embodied and how a Mair-rigolauya was the personification of the murderous, amoral, dark times before Surak. You and your Clan were less than Vulcan, but tolerated as living reminders of what we could go back to being.”

“Those are some of the more popular opinions.” Tralnor said.

“Everything I thought knew about you was a lie.” Seltun was still so very young, unaware of the beastly machinations of reality. “A person does not do what you did on Melbek III unless you embody what it is to serve our people in the true manner Surak suggests everyone should. Few do so, yet they are perpetuating the dishonesty that taints your Clan Name.”

“Some people are not good at living by example.”

“You are very forgiving, Lt. Commander.” Seltun, rocked to his core by his new comprehension of Vulcan society, was still trying to find the logic, if any, in the stories he’d been fed as a kid.

“It’s okay if you call me Tralnor, I’d prefer if you did.”

“I have not earned that right.” He thought back to the night in the brig where he’d been so disrespectful. “Nor do I deserve the leniency you've granted.”

“And your question?” Tralnor was glad to see Seltun was indeed learning and evolving as a person in light of his second chance.

“I seek understanding, T’Kehr. Encountering you and learning more about Lt. Commander Sha’leyen, what are the differences that supposedly make the Lyr Saan so worthy of fear and derision?”

Tralnor thought on the query. “If there’s an answer to that, I shall have to let you into my mind to see if you can find it.”

  
  
  
The smiles, glances, attempts at being warm, Spock shunned them all. Unless their interactions were to do with the current trial or the care and feeding of the Enterprise and her crew, he didn’t allow himself to engage the captain.

He’d found the coarse, bloodied remains of his psyche, and started on a careful rebuild. Sealing the fissures and cracks, polishing out the pits and scratches, it would take time, but eventually, it would be like James T. Kirk was never there.

Then, and only then, could he ask the question: Was love worth trying again?

  
  
  


The liquor stayed in the drawer tonight. “You think we’re looking at another day over there Jim, or will Garth come to his senses and get those ghouls to plead out?”

“No, we’ll be over there, forced to listen as that overpaid asswipe keeps clawing around for some kind of hold.” Jim simply looked sad, mind not totally focused on the court-martial. “When you’re up there, play it cool, just like Sha’leyen. Don’t give Garth any of your charming wit or we’ll be stuck here for another week while he tries to argue you in circles about the meaning of some Southern colloquialism that he’ll never understand.”

“Would I do that to us, Jim? We’re not doing the universe a lick of good stagnating here.”

“Thank you, Bones.”

“No problem.”

Jim tried to fake a smile or some other approximation of a contented expression. “I blew it, didn’t I?”

McCoy wanted to be a good friend and offer a word of encouragement, but what was the use? It didn’t take a psychiatrist who specialized in relationship discord to see the writing on the wall. “Yeah, Jim, you blew it.”

Kirk nodded, indulged in a sigh, and made like he and his little kid grin were going to take the ship by storm. He nearly made it to the doctor’s door before turning around, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

  
  
  
Tralnor let Seltun initiate the meld, knowing the young Vulcan did not have the experience or stamina to maintain it for very long. The Lieutenant would come out of it with an appreciation of what mental processes the Lyr Saan instilled and a taste of what it was like to live as a Mair-rigolauya.

Seltun moved through Tralnor's mind like one might navigate a natural history museum, each hall of exhibition a category neatly subdivided by cladistics. Family, mundane daily life, the teachings of Kotekru Kaylara, the Lyr Saan method of decision making, he touched on several topics almost at random when he found the doorway to the seat of Tralnor’s hyper-empathy.

(You may enter, Seltun. I will shield you from the brunt of it.)

He stepped through into a strong yet familiar stream of emotion. (This is me?)

(Yes, you’re the person I’m physically closest to at the moment.)

(I did not know I was so lacking—)

(The Mair-rigolauya knows this current from all Vulcans. I cannot block it out, and I cannot shut these abilities down. Every person from our world comes to me in this way when they’re within range.)

(I am not abnormal?) Seltun touched on the happy/calm coming from the two human women on the other side of the bulkhead.

(You have nothing to worry about, Seltun.)

(T’Kehr, can I show you something?) He moved away, retreating into the other parts of Tralnor’s mind. Seltun located and projected something so tightly wrapped in suppressive meditation that it lurched out the only time it could, when he was asleep. Melbek III, from climbing in the pit with the bodies, seeing Ensign Radovitch stealing part of a corpse, to witnessing his greatest fear, most Vulcans’ greatest fear, k’oh-nar, the complete obliteration of emotional control, he was at a loss for effectively dealing with those experiences.

(I can teach you another coping technique that may prove more useful.) Tralnor sensed Seltun’s psionic fatigue and let him withdraw.

“That was. . . Thank you, T’Kehr.” Seltun allowed a few moments to synthesize some of this encounter.

“The answer to your question, Seltun?”

“We are not afraid of you, but what you show us about ourselves.”


	47. Chapter 47

“Vitell’s Star is overrun with human supremacists, but they’re mostly of a homegrown variety. Mick doesn’t know why the AVDL would be at his station, especially looking for Vulcan antiquities. He’s stumped. Of course, MV Sweetness filed false everything and could be anywhere by now. I did ask him if our married couple left anything behind in their room, nada.” Sha’leyen, behind her desk in uniform trousers and an undershirt, looked like she’d do anything to avoid another long day in her dress jacket.

“I spent some time with Lt. Seltun last night.” Tralnor offered what new he’d learned. “He was a year ahead of Veddah at the academy, but they did share a few elective classes. It sounds like Veddah has a very gentle demeanor. Apparently, he had incredible rapport with San Francisco’s urban wildlife, and even got a wild mustang to let him touch her when he was out on maneuvers over in Nevada.”

“Laura will have smelled that on him like chum in the water.” Spock said.

  
  
  
Daniel Shelley continued to heap praise on Laura. “You know you’ve made it big time when the Vee-Core are after you.”

“ _V’Kor_.” She corrected.

“Whatever the fuck they call themselves, Santa’s Workshop Police Department wants your ass. They’ve sent warrants to Interpol, the whole fucking shebang.” He laughed and rolled his eyes at the audacity of the Vulcan authorities to think they had a chance of pinning her down. “Apparently they don’t find your feature film debut very scintillating.”

“Well, they wouldn’t, Dan.” This was one of the times where she wanted to know how someone so stupid made it to the top of the AVDL food chain.

“What would Vulcan pornography look like? Wiring diagrams, number matrices, stock market reports? No, stock reports are too unpredictable, too exciting.”

 _I have seen precisely two images of what might be considered Vulcan pornography, and they remain two of the most beautiful things I have ever laid my eyes on, pictures that would be so wasted on you, Dan_. When Laura was about twelve, she’d made a wrong turn into Lady T’Sel’s bedroom at a gathering of VSA’s genetics faculty. She didn’t know how long she’d stared at them, but T’Sel had come to find her and said, “So you know how wonderful it may be,” as they left, door shut firmly behind them.

“I’ve got you off-loading your main cargo at TD-Orbital Three. I’ll be there to oversee things in person and make sure no one is helping themselves to the merchandise. From there, I want you to swing over to SubOrb Nine.”

“I don’t have any business there.” She needed to find a way to get dirtside with Veddah. Sweetness was due for a C-Check. While there wasn’t enough time for such detailed maintenance work, the old girl needed more than Laura and the crew could give her out in the lanes. That should offer a long enough gap to find T’Pau’s object if it was on Trego Delta.

“You don’t, no. That pretty little Vulcan of yours, that’s another story.” 

Laura shook her head to the negative. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve already got things lined up.” He squared his shoulders, thinking he was ready for whatever argument she brought.

“You’re not going to turn him into a porno queen.”

“And you’re missing the point, Golden Girl. The people have spoken, and they want more! They want to see that virgin ass plowed until he screams and begs for the mercy of death. _They want blood, and we’re going to give it to them_.” This wasn’t funny now.

“Too fucking bad, Dan. _He’s mine_.” She rolled a sleeve back where he could see the Sentinel fob strung up on a watch bracelet. “You don’t actually know them, haven’t lived amongst them, but if there is one thing I will not let you do, it’s taking away my personal satisfaction at slowly, methodically, and completely destroying one of them. I earned this, Dan. You and your studio vultures on SubOrb Nine can go fuck yourselves for all I care.”

Defeat took hold of Shelley’s features. “A Sentinel, really?”

“I knew you’d try something like this.” She’d had a host of reasons for installing the implant beyond worries that Veddah might try to run at Vitell’s Star. “That Vulcan is my prize. I captured the USS Seren and am entitled to my share of the spoils. Therefore, I’m within my rights to protect my claim.”

“How long is it going to take you to torture him to death?”

Her turn to smile, she loved it when Dan recoiled from her. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m thinking something like one year for each that those fucking Vulcans screwed me over.”

  
  
  
Mollie and Sarek were reading through the crime computer information, Justin having provided data padds he’d disabled from contacting information networks. The contents of the chit were the only thing he’d downloaded onto them. While this was T’Lal’s usual babysitting time, she’d needed to run some errands. That left Mollie with Ambassador Scary Uncle.

“Mallia?”

Mollie looked up. “Yes, Sir?”

“I know that my wife has said this, though as yet, I have not.” He set the data padd on the table where he was seated. “You are good to my son, and have always been. His mother and I were relieved when we learned that T’Pring would not be his first. . . Now that he is no longer obligated to the one chosen for him by T’Pau, it is my wish that he might choose you.”

 _How do I tell you this, Sarek? Should I explain? Tell a version of the truth_. . .

“Should he ask. . .” _Only if he absolutely has to, if there’s no other choice, but I stand by what I say next_ , “I would be honored to join with him.”

Granted deliverance from the fear that his child might die because of Vulcan biology’s mean streak, Sarek took on a layer of calm she’d not seen in him before.

 _Merciful Stars Above_! Mollie thought. _There is no way this ends well for any of us_.

  
  
  
He knew when she approached, and she could feel his anticipation as she keyed the code to his cell. She bypassed her chair as to sit next to him on the mattress that was now part of his sleeping area. He didn’t flinch or shrink away.

“Are these warm enough for you?” She’d found him some long underwear that was supposed to be good to negative twenty degrees, but that was for humans.

Still layered in blankets over the top, only his arms and shoulders out where she could see them, he said, “They are preferable to nudity.”

“You have no idea how close you were to starring in your own gang rape video. Daniel Shelley was going to film it for all the universe to see.” _Our mutual pact of annihilation saved you. Stay with me, Veddah. Don’t go into that abyss_.

She could shove thoughts to the front of her mind, against the bond where he couldn’t ignore them. It wasn’t quite telepathy, it was too crude, but it worked. _It wasn’t the only thing, remember what I said about my promises_.

(It will never be like that again.) He was desperate to believe her. Through their link, his innate aching need for his mate’s reassurance shimmered like reflected heat on the horizon of a sweltering summer day. The nature of the bond, the things it was designed to set off in his body and mind, it was all he could do not to touch her.

 _We’re under constant observation here. Give me an hour to take care of a few things, and I’ll send for you to be brought to my quarters_.

His hands clenched in anticipation. (I cannot help it. This is more intimate than my childhood bond. It compels me to seek out your skin, your mind.)

 _We’re not exactly following the twelve-day honeymoon tradition where that’s all we’d be doing is settling into the bond_. She got to her feet. _An hour_.

  
  
  
McCoy didn’t get flustered, didn’t show the tiniest hint of his signature irritation with the universe at large, even when asked some frank questions on what he thought of Vulcans and their capacity to serve in Starfleet. He drilled home Sha’leyen’s professionalism and constant willingness to put others ahead of herself.

Kirk wanted to stand and beg the tribunal to skip to the sentencing phase. Radovitch’s moneybags father was in attendance today, and even Jerry “Rado-lite” Radovich knew his kid was guilty as hell, that the longer this dragged out, the more of an embarrassment it became. Kirk would have told him to stay in Manhattan.

 _Case in point_ , the captain thought. _Ensign Radovitch is all the proof you need that Starfleet Academy is not the end-all, be-all_.

When the Krampus took the stand, Kirk got to see how the kid got his rather interesting nickname. Seltun was so Vulcan, he lacked any of Spock’s hard-won tact and socialization skills. The young Lieutenant was scathing. Kirk’s imagination ran wild with the image of Seltun whipping and tossing Garth in a burlap sack then dragging the lawyer off to hell. What these proceedings lacked in sense, they made up for in entertainment.

Spock, as Sha’leyen’s immediate supervisor, was the prosecution’s last witness. Kirk checked out mentally. All he could focus on was the angular face that from now would only visit in dreams as an apparition. _Please, just look at me, Spock. Let me know that I still exist to you_.

  
  
  


“We are going to be stuck here until Belon declares a cease-fire. The defense has _fifteen_ witnesses. I think they managed to find his Year One teacher and dragged her all the way out here just so she can tell us how Radovitch didn’t eat as much glue as the other pupils in the class.” Sha’leyen felt trapped. “I know Trego Delta is the least likely place for the tavalik duv-tor to show up, but I think it’s the best chance we have of catching up to Laura.”

“Of the locations we have discussed, Trego Delta was only a nine-point-one percent likelihood of hosting the artifact.” Spock was also growing frustrated with the court-martial.

“Your friend, Mick Howard, sent a media file that came to his attention right after you two headed out this morning.” Tralnor said from Sha’leyen’s office. “It’s disturbing, and it proves you were right about Veddah’s behavior. And now the V’Kor are rattling their sabres.”

“We do not need that.” She logged into her inbox and clicked on the thumbnail image for Mick’s video file, cringing at what the still revealed. “They will only get in our way.”

“And they do not know how to handle Laura.” Spock said. “Nothing can prepare them for her. All the more reason we must find her first. As of this conversation, it would not be speculative to say Laura Hillyard is more dangerous than the tavalik duv-tor, where it remains hidden and deactivated.”

Spock sent Tralnor back to the media lab for the rest of the shift. As he propelled the war wagon round the ship, Tralnor’s mind would not stop replaying the video that was apparently taking the human supremacist world by storm. There were some strange details that, besides depicting the rape of an innocent young man, made it less than arousing. The picture and sound quality were lousy, but his Vulcan hearing could tell Laura was speaking throughout nearly the entire encounter. Even the advantage of excellent hearing didn’t make him privy to what she was saying.

When he’d first come aboard, Tralnor talked to Enterprise’s A/V people and found one of the only areas, save the kitchens, where the ship faltered. They didn’t really have the training, and certainly didn’t have the equipment, to take a piece of footage like this and clean it up well. Joe Bergman did.

She was probably berating her victim, doing to him with words what she couldn’t accomplish by desecrating his body. However, there was an outside chance, given Laura’s narration skills, that she might be giving away useful information.

Not for the first time, Tralnor was thankful he didn’t have any memory of what happened to him in that almond orchard.

  
  
  
Joe was on the verge of teetering out of his chair. “That’s—It’s making me nauseous just thinking about it.”

Pulled from her trance by Joe’s curdling emotional response to something, Mollie looked from her friend to Sarek, who’d decided to stay around. To the Ambassador, she mouthed, “Aisha t’flakosh?” _The cause of his disturbance_?

“Ri-fainu.” Sarek didn’t know, having not paid attention to the first part of the conversation. He folded over Joe’s copy of _Variety_ and listened.

“If I didn’t think this was important, I would never ask this of you or anyone.” Tralnor said. “Don’t you think I’d do it myself if that was a viable option?”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Joe shook his head and expelled a heavy breath. “Because I wouldn’t let you. Lo-lite camera?”

“Yeah.”

“Fixed or moving?” Joe wrapped an arm around his gut.

“Fixed.”

“Thank fuck for that. At least I won’t have to deal with some criminal’s idea of creative cinematography. Multiple points?”

“Four total for picture, just the single microphone pick-up.” Tralnor, unseen from Mollie’s position in the room, sounded stressed. “And someone has already done a hack job of editing this together. Amateur at best.”

“Ugh.” Now that arm was rubbing his belly, trying to settle his stomach. “By the time I’m done with this thing, you’ll be able to read the titles on the bookshelves and hear a mouse fart in that room. Gimmie what you got.”

“I owe you one, a case of one for that matter. Grey Goose or Zel’e Vedmuy?”

“Better make it the Zel. I’m going to need to be drunk for this, real drunk.” Touching his temples, Joe said, “Tralnor, don’t worry about me, and take care of yourself, damnit.”

“Thank you is not enough.”

“Hey, I knew there’d be some strange shit when I agreed to come on board for this odd project. Found footage isn’t my forte, but it will be.”

For someone human to set off Mollie’s nascent empathic abilities like Joe just did, meant massive turmoil in the immediate vicinity. “What happened?”

“Are you staying until Livia gets here, Ambassador?” Joe used the back of the chair to hold himself up on his rubbery knees.

“I am in the position to do so.” Sarek replied.

The mini-bar, which Mollie hadn’t touched, offered up three tiny bottles of so-so brand-name vodka. Joe grabbed all three, tucked two in the pocket of his toucan and hyacinth macaw aloha shirt, and immediately downed the one in his hand.

“I’m going downstairs, calling a cab to take me to my house, and I’ll be in my editing suite. I don’t think I’ll be here in the morning.” He dropped the empty in the wastebasket. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Mr. Bergman?” Sarek, used to erratic human behavior, wasn’t sure what he was witnessing.

“I can’t talk right now, Sir. If I do, I’ll think about it, and I might lose my nerve.” Joe rushed from the room.

“Perhaps we should call your brother.”

She nodded. “Agreed.”

  
  
  
Veddah lay beside her, eyes closed, head on her shoulder. She was aware that he was working to smooth out the ragged edges of the bond, including where he’d intruded into her visual cortex. Having been in the perilous place of throwing the proverbial kitchen sink at her brain to save his life, he’d pushed deeper than a planned, professionally-guided marriage went.

While he worked, she read a book detailing the origins of the Soviet cosmonaut program and the race to beat the Americans into outer space. She’d grown up with her mother’s framed poster of Valentina Tereshkova, the first human woman sent into space, on the living room wall.

“Pretend you’re sleeping. Silvio’s coming.” She sensed her second in command traipsing up the corridor to her quarters. Not a hunch, not a guess, no, she felt his energy in the vicinity and it grew more concentrated the closer he got.

He buzzed and she let him in. Silvio made a sour face at Veddah. “I gotta say, I don’t get it. A sex slave that you’ve got to do all the breaking in?”

“Unlike some people, he’s trainable. He listens to what I want and actually does it.” That zing was meant for Silvio. “What brings you to my book nook sex palace on this fine afternoon?”

Still distracted, “You fucked him to the point of exhaustion?”

“Why are you here?”

“I figured out how to get you and your pet to a refinery just outside of Campbell City. My brother Damian works there and will intercept the crate we ship you down in. He’ll take you anywhere you want in Campbell.” Silvio was proud, arms crossed, shoulders back. “You and your fuck bunny go look for this treasure. Sweetness finally gets those damned condensation collectors taken care of. . . What exactly are you looking for anyway?”

“We’ll know when we find it.” She returned her full attention to her book. Silvio got the hint and departed.


	48. Chapter 48

Between the ineptitude of Garth and his witness parade and the mental pleading and begging coming off Captain Kirk, Spock wanted to hide out for a week in his labs, far away from people, only to come out late at night every once in a while to graze the offerings at the officers' mess.

 _I’ll make it better. I’ll make it right. I’ll be the man you need me to be, just don’t shut me away_. The captain, two seats away, flayed himself open, not knowing Spock could hear him.

Commander Sue Olsen, called out from Starfleet Academy, struggled to answer Garth’s specific questions about Radovitch. She was an instructor who prepared students for the rigors of landing parties from a psychological perspective. Clearly, she had not retained a memory of the accused.

“Commander, would you please read the highlighted section of Ensign Radovitch’s record?” Garth graciously handed Olsen a data padd.

“ _It is my recommendation Cadet Radovitch be given priority consideration for a ship-of-the-line posting, as he has demonstrated an outstanding ability to think and act rationally in antagonistic and unconventional situations as based on his superior performance in both the Corvis II and Grayling’s World simulations_.” Olsen’s demeanor darkened.

Beside Spock, Lt. Seltun was suddenly interested in the proceedings.

“Please finish, Commander.” Garth prodded.

“ _Furthermore, I am submitting Cadet Radovitch as my nomination for this year’s Cochran Medal, for which he is most deserving_.” She practically spit the last words.

“That sounds to me like a resounding endorsement for my client, not at all representative of the actions of which he stands accused.” Smug, Garth was on the cusp of smiling. He wouldn’t have to rely as heavily on his hired-gun expert witnesses that filled out the rest of the roster if he could make this course evaluation take some traction.

“Yes, it is an endorsement.” Olsen agreed. “But I’ve never written such a document in regard to Mr. Radovitch.”

“Is that so, Commander?” Garth thought she was a moron.

“Because I wrote that letter of recommendation for this young man over here.” She pointed into the gallery. “Cochran Medalist, officer of the Federation’s Flag Ship, Lt. Seltun.”

  
  
  
The afternoon session ended with three contempt citations, two arrests, one of them, Jerry Radovitch dragged off in cuffs for lunging over the bar and wailing on his son for being a “lying coward and completely useless piece of shit.” Plus, a petty officer was hauled out on a stretcher when the data padd Garth hurled into the gallery in a rage hit her in the center of her forehead. It was as colorful a conclusion to a trial as any courtroom drama dreamed up for the movies.

“I did not see that coming.” Sha’leyen said, as her group arrived on board Enterprise. “Please don’t let them declare a mistrial.”

“Might not have a choice.” McCoy peeled out of his jacket before stepping off the platform. “They get a conviction now, it’ll be overturned due to ineffective counsel.”

“Dr. McCoy is correct.” Spock agreed.

“See, would you look at that?” McCoy pointed after the Vulcan. “I’d usually gloat about being right, but what’s the use?”

“Unbelievable.” She opened her collar. “I’d say it was a total waste, but the look on Radovitch’s face when Olsen caught him out? Practically worth the price of admission.”

“As soon as I know, I’ll pass the word on, being that we’re all still retained.” Kirk said.

Last to leave the transporter, Seltun said, “Ensign Radovitch was not a classmate of mine under Commander Olsen’s instruction. He was in a different section, under Lt. Commander Longview.”

“If Sonny Boy wasn’t done in ‘Fleet before today, the Fat Lady just sang him an encore.” McCoy wished everyone a good evening and wandered off.

“The Fat Lady?” Seltun asked.

Sha’leyen shrugged. “I think it is something to do with human Opera music, if my understanding is correct, or Twentieth-century cartoons about rabbits. I don’t really know.”

Seltun and Sha’leyen left together, discussing the colorful language humans used to elaborate on what might otherwise be straightforward communication.

“I will see you tomorrow, Captain.” Spock might just as well have addressed a light standard.

Kirk sent the transporter techs on their way and dispatched a message to Lyudmila Kuznetsov. _My place or yours_?

  
  
  
McCoy, back in his duty uniform, could not leave well enough alone. He had to see how his department survived without him for two days. The cynical part of him always expected to return from stuff like this to the aftermath of a riot. Sick bay was tip-top.

As much of an administrator as a practitioner, he wanted to get a start on all of the box-ticking he’d missed while going to the circus. He launched the medical records program and settled in for the evening. Not twenty minutes in, Nurses Chapel and Patel were done with their shift exchange, and he couldn’t help but hear what the women were talking about.

“ _Sarah David_!” Christine damn-near shrieked.

“That’s what everyone is saying. They seemed to have hit it off down on Melbek III.” Joan was both consoling and fed-up.

“Joan, what is wrong with me?”

“Nothing, Chrissy, you just need to open yourself up to the possibility that maybe you should stick to human men?”

“You’re sure he’s seeing Sarah? Med Micro Sarah?”

“I don’t know if they’re going out, but he seems pretty interested in her, and she’s kinda liking him back.”

 _I can’t afford to lose her_ , McCoy thought. If Chapel flew the coop or he had to let her go, he’d wind up with a square peg for the round hole that was this five-year mission. Staring down the final stretch, he didn’t want to deal with a new charge nurse.

“Excuse me, Dr. McCoy?”

“Sha’leyen, how are you?” He shut off his monitor and dropped his stylus in the top drawer.

“I think that I am ready for the next series of corrective procedures.” She sat down. “And if possible, I’d prefer that you be the one to operate.”

“Of course.” He reviewed what he remembered of her medical history. “I might still bring a specialist or two on board to consult.”

“That is fine.”

“I don’t suppose I need to ask why you’ve changed your mind. You and Dr. Tralnor are only going to get closer.” He smiled at the prospect of the bioarchaeologist being comfortable enough to even think about a future with sexual intimacy a part of it. That monster she’d been married to did so much damage, her reproductive tract was a snarl of scar tissue, leaving her physically incapable of having intercourse. McCoy offered her the surgeries when he signed on as CMO, and about twice a year since then, after her physicals because Starfleet guidelines said he had to.

“If you could work up a treatment plan that shows how far apart the procedures need to be scheduled and when I should come in for any additional blood donations, I’d appreciate that.”

“Of course.” He’d switched the monitor back on, pulled up her file, and made some notes. “I’ll have that ready for you by morning.”

She’d told him once, not long after they first became acquainted, that no one knew about that internal mutilation but him, and only because he was CMO and had to know. As a sixteen-year-old refugee on Vulcan, they’d repaired her enough that she regained continence functions, but she’d chosen to stop there.

“I’m going to have to brief my surgical team.” And right then, that still included Christine Chapel.

“Thank you, Leonard.” She said, getting up to leave. “I would not trust this task to a stranger.”

He glanced at the time and made an executive decision. The moment Sha’leyen was gone, he paged Chapel and had her report back to sick bay. When the nurse arrived, she appeared level-headed and professional.

“You and I need to go over a set of records and put together a surgical consult for Lt. Commander Sha’leyen.”

Whether the concern on her face was real or faked, he didn’t care. “What is it for?”

“We’re fixing a complicated case of savagery.” His emphasis on the word left Christine confused until he brought up the photos of what they were up against.

Her hands went over her mouth. “Oh my god.”

  
  
  
“That slimy son-of-a-bitch.” O’Dell balked. “He stole Olsen’s letter from your file and passed it off as his for the last three years? Incredible.”

The full complement of lads, including Biltmore, Avery, and Sarah David, sat in rapt attention as the Krampus described the way the afternoon session crashed and burned.

“I had Olsen, semester before you did. Even if he’d been one of her students, he’d never have left an impression on her except as being exactly the type of shit stain you absolutely do not want on a Flagship.” Chris’ overly pale face was practically yellow with disdain. “I ran into Radovitch at some off-campus stuff, trying to buy friends and influence with his family’s money. He’d snort cocaine off a hooker’s ass if he thought it might impress someone.”

“Makes you wonder how much he doctored his transcript and how the bloody hell he got away with it for so long?” Billy the Sixth turned to Tralnor. “You know how these computer systems work from the instructor’s side of things, Dr. T. Could Radovitch have conned one of the faculty into stacking the deck in his favor or is it a hack job?”

“There’s either a corrupt Dean at the Academy, or someone higher than that, or he paid someone to do it. I’m friends with some of the profs up there and they use the same system we do at ‘SC. I can change anything I want, for my students in my classes, but I’d have to do some creative breaking and entering to alter anything else.”

“When he was abusing that corpse, he had an expression on his face that almost spoke of—I would call it guv-sanosh.” Seltun’s still processing emotional reactions to Melbek III included what to possibly make of Radovitch’s deviance.

Sarah made a face like she might be sick. “ _Disgusting_.”

“ _Fucking awful_.” Alton agreed.

The rest of the guys weren’t sure they wanted to know, but Andy asked anyway. “What’s that?”

“He was getting off on desecrating a dead body.” Sarah translated.

Chris gagged, barely keeping his guts together. “I don’t want to be a part of this species anymore.”

  
  
  
Ensign Kevin Radovitch’s jaw was broken, so he’d been sent to the lockdown unit of Starbase 21’s medical center. At least he was comforted knowing that he wasn’t facing a conviction tomorrow. Garth was good for that much. How the fuck had those caviar-fed legal elites come to the decision not to take Lt. Commander Sha’leyen’s background seriously? Radovitch didn’t know she was a goddamned cop until court was called to session.

He recalled prepping to beam down to Melbek III, read the orders, and thought it out of the ordinary that red shirts were on secondment. He’d asked the Chief about it and was told that was just how she liked to do things, don’t worry about it. He should have picked it up in the way she ran her crime scene that she’d spent time in law enforcement, that she wasn’t another faceless blue shirt he could bully or otherwise manipulate.

“How is your pain level now?” His homely, flat-chested nurse asked. He made a noncommittal sound, and she pushed a hypospray of something that numbed his whole face instead of leaving him feeling his head was splitting in two. Unable to speak, he struggled to get Nurse Fugly to use her shriveled brain to see he was miming that he wanted to write something down.

 _Lawyer_. He scrawled. _Ollie Schultz, now_.

“Um, maybe I should get Doctor in here to talk?” She blinked at him.

Ollie was Garth’s second chair, and Radovitch’s only chance at dispatching a message to an important contact without risking Starfleet interception. _Bring me my fucking lawyer_! _Right now_!

She teetered out of the room and called for the physician on duty.

  
  
  
“I’d say this is one for the loss column, Jimmy.” Kuznetsov cradled Kirk, smoothed down his hair, and pressed her cheek against the crown of his head. “Bad timing, stress, maybe it was just not meant to be.”

“I can’t live without him. I know that now.” Bitter regret coursed throughout him. “I could have handled this better and chose not to.”

“Give Spock some time and distance and do the same for you. May you both heal and eventually meet at a crossroads where you can salvage your friendship.” She kissed his hair.

“I miss him so much when he’s not around. It’s that much harder when we’re in the same room together and I’m reduced to an entity known only as Commanding Officer.” He appreciated the way her body heat radiated through her uniform tunic. “I feel like I’m dead to him.”

“How long until your mission is up?”

“A little over ten months.”

“This will all be over soon.” She said. “And you both use Enterprise’s refit to recuperate. There is hope for you as yet.”

He wanted to believe her.

  
  
  
Mistrial.

Kirk’s orders from Admiral Holt were to stay put at Starbase 21 and wait for the tribunal to issue some edicts on how the case would move forward. At least now he could cut the crew some slack and let them indulge in some more leisure to take their minds off mass murders, Laura Hillyard, and Ensign Radovitch.

Finger over the button to send everyone off on leave, Uhura stepped into his office. “Captain, I just received a message from Starbase Corrections.”

If she was telling him in person instead of relaying the contents via the comm system, this was not news he wanted to hear. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Crewman Ella Cash was found at 0432, hanging from a shower curtain rod. She died at 0640 while undergoing surgery to repair her broken neck.”

 _There’s another body for Commodore Sloan’s butcher bill_ , Kirk thought.


	49. Chapter 49

Amphetamines and vodka kept Joe both distracted and focused enough that he was still working eighteen hours later when Mollie and Sarek walked in through the sliding glass door of his cantilevered home on Mulholland Drive. He didn’t look at his guests, keeping his bloodshot eyes fixed on the bank of screens.

“Henny-Penny, go take a shower and get some sleep.” Mollie placed a hand on the back of his chair and started to turn him from the console. “Tralnor will more than understand if you take a break.”

“Almost done.” He turned back, jogged the main screen forward a couple of frames, isolated the nightstand, and started running a depix and layering program to draw out the details.

“Joe, please.”

“It’s so messed up. . .” The image gained focus and clarity. “Left in lo-lite format, it could be just about any amateur porno you’ve ever seen. Filter and correct for color and granularity, it’s way different than what those barbaric supremacist fucks think it is. Sync in the cleaned up audio track, and this thing gets even stranger.”

“Mr. Bergman, get some rest.” Sarek said. “It will still be here when you wake up.”

“I’m so close. Let me finish, and then I’ll go scrub myself raw for a couple of hours, I promise.” He saved the single enhanced frame as its own file and added it to a folder of similar images. Then he reached for a bottle of eye drops and leaned his head back. As he blinked the artificial moisture down his cheeks, he ran his right index finger over his tattoo.

  
  
  
Tralnor and Spock followed Joe’s advice to start with the still frames of the details of Laura Hillyard’s personal space. No photos of family or reminders of home and none of the AVDL’s propaganda where she was the face of the movement adorned her walls. She had a small metal sculpture of Sputnik on her desk, a generic travel poster for Amsterdam, and a print of an abstract watercolor from an art gallery on Epsilon Beta IV. Where things got interesting was on the bookshelves that lined most of her cabin. Laura was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

Business, psychology, law, warp mechanics, computer science, astrophysics, programming languages, technical manuals, server building, various histories, neuro-psi, computer core maintenance, case studies on hacking, Starfleet bulletins and directives, criminology, forensic science, survival guides, her library was extensive and revealed a lot about her beyond just liking hard copies over electronic for information retention reasons.

“She has both of the books you and Mollie wrote. Do you suppose she’s interested in what’s in them or they’re just another part of her unhealthy obsession with you?” Tralnor knew to remain leery of this woman.

“That is hard to tell.” Spock stared at the next frame and pointed out a locked slipcase that held a very familiar set of books.

“Right under their noses too.” Tralnor zoomed in. The lock and the slipcase were of obvious Vulcan manufacture to those who paid attention. For the idiots she was forced to live and work with, they had no idea. She’d gotten her hands on something that was given to all Vulcan children upon the completion of the khas-wan, something that was never intended for outworlders’ consumption. The series of five small volumes discussed, in detail, the workings of Vulcan psionic abilities, how they typically manifested and why, and at what ages youth should meet certain milestones. “She’s more well-versed on Vulcans than any human who’s not married-in should be.”

“Curiously, she has chosen to keep those details about us to herself. We would know if the human supremacist realm had a grasp on the intimate making of our minds.” Spock zoomed the focus out again. “One would think that she would want to share. Unleashing certain information would play directly into the AVDL’s message that we are the devils they claim us to be.”

“This means she knows about the Fever and hasn’t embarrassed our world with that knowledge. Look, next shelf down, hand-lettered spines, dust jackets made from kraft paper.” Another close-up. “Golic Vulcan, transliterated into Cyrillic characters. Even people staring right at them would think its plain old Russian. Laura is fluent. I’ve heard her speak to her mother and the handful of other Russian kids attending Consolidated with us. Those dust jackets are a sharp way of avoiding suspicion.”

“Klavin’s _Thought and Form_ , T’Corva’s _Advanced Meditations for the Preparation of Subdividing Mental Processes_ , _Standard Logic_ , these are the texts of our youth.” They found nearly two dozen such titles randomly tucked into her collection. “Laura does not do anything by half-measures. She has taken the concept of studying one’s enemy to an elite level.”

“I’ve never seen any of those books outside of a Vulcan home. Mine are locked in a hutch away from prying eyes. My girls both got cedar chests from Great-grandma Nora for their success at the khas-wan, and I’ve made them store those books in their chests. I don’t want to know how Laura got any of these.”

“Perhaps they are stolen.” Spock offered the most likely answer. “She either took them on her own or had them delivered through the AVDL spy network.”

“They’re not for show either. She’s studied them, the jackets are worn, fuzzy around the edges. She understands us better than some of us understand ourselves.” Tralnor’s fight reaction to this woman flared. He wanted to swear at and about her but kept the name-calling in his head.

“A distressing revelation.”

Tralnor readied the video. “Now for the hard part.”

After viewing it twice, Tralnor shook his head. “She’s not doing this because she wants to. I’d have thought she’d go into that room, vitriol pumping, ready to inflict physical and mental torture on her prisoner. Instead, she’s a lesser horror to whoever this Hoskins is? Doping Veddah up on psi-inhibitors is not the action of someone who’s trying to be malicious.”

“She is in a considerable amount of pain once she’s forced him to penetrate her. I believe the psi-inhibitor is an act of mercy. She also chooses not to cause him any physical injuries and treats him with a restraint I have never seen in my dealings with her.”

“ _Capable of shame_. . .”

  
  
  
Laura inspected the shipping crate she and Veddah were going down in. It was nicer than some shuttles, and she signed off on it. Soon, the diamonds would be gone in exchange for relief. She’d decided, since so much of Sweetness’ crew was from Trego Delta, to let everyone who wanted off the boat for a few days go and have some R and R. She joked that she was taking her sex slave for a covert weekend of fucking under a blue sky.

She’d done well at billing Veddah to the crew as both a source of valuable information and as her erotic plaything. To them, the sex angle was her way of continuing to demean and dominate him, which they approved of. As a captive, Federation law said Veddah could not legally consent, meaning each time she took him to her bed was another count of rape against her. It was fun for everyone to see that tally go up.

“That thing is going to be like that dumb party game where they lock you in a closet with someone and you’re supposed to feel each other up in the dark.” Silvio was particularly proud of his creation. “I’d tell you to clean up the cum stains when you’re done, but soon as Damian sends this back, I’m stuffing Horse-laugh in it and dragging him over to the Market.”

“Can’t say as I’ve ever had ‘fuck someone while locked with them in a shipping crate’ as a goal, but I might make room for it in my schedule, just this once.” She and Silvio laughed. “That reminds me, I should go check in on our friends. I need to have a little chat with the dethroned Captain Franklin.”

“Have fun, Boss. See you at 1330.”

She left Silvio’s workshop and popped into the space she called her garden shed. On the bench sat her most recent creation. The disc-shaped object was bulky at half a centimeter thick, which couldn’t be helped given the materials she’d had to work with. Powered by the same ancient technology that gave humans self-winding watches, the disc broadcast a false biological signature to most security scanners and sensors. Without a battery, the device itself wouldn’t set off a scan either. Placed on a chain, hung around a person’s neck, it was a very plain necklace. She hoped Veddah wouldn’t need it, but she’d stick it on him as a precaution anyway.

Disc pocketed, she moved down the hall until she arrived at Seren’s cargo hold. “Didn’t your mothers ever teach you that it's rude to stare?”

Ten sets of eyes averted and she walked up and caught Franklin by the hair from where he sat on the deck plates. He stumbled as his greasy skin streaked the floor. He’d thought going on some kind of hygiene strike would gross his jailers out enough they’d lessen their abuse. He tried to object to something she was doing and took the back of her hand across his nose.

“Try that again, and I’ll have the boys string you up like piñata and take turns attempting to break you open.” Franklin nodded.“I’m here to convey a little information is all. I’m molding your science officer into quite the astute lover.”

“You what?” Franklin thought his ears deceived him.

“I’m teaching him how to fuck.” She said, sewing more discord into Franklin’s impotence as a commanding officer. Then, turning over her left wrist, she showed him the Sentinel fob. “And should he think he’s not up to the occasion, I know just how to change his mind.”

“You fucking cunt!” He wasn’t trying to put on his tough-guy persona. “Lt. Veddah is just a boy, an inexperienced, nice boy. He was saving himself.”

“Nothing left to be saved now.” She teased.

Franklin looked like he smelled something rotten that wasn’t his own putrid body. “Why? Why would you defile someone like him? What could you possibly get out of it?”

“Why? Because I can.” She cocked her head and half-grinned. “Not being able to protect that kind young man from a beast like me, it reminds you of your failures as a leader and as a human being. I must thank you though, Franklin. You dumping your science officer in my lap has been a boon.”

He scowled. “I wish you’d crawl off and die.”

“That’s no way to talk to your gracious host.” The full smile revealed itself, and he scooted back about half a meter. “I have someone to keep me warm at night and I can, for the first time in years, have an intelligent conversation with a person who doesn’t find words with more than three syllables a threat. In fact, it was just yesterday that Veddah and I were discussing the Dvatai t’Kal-i-farr.”

Franklin didn’t know what she meant. Typical of these Starfleet rocket ramblers. Earth’s biggest ally and he didn’t know when he heard the language.

“Never learned Golic Vulcan did you? They all learn Standard, so why bother? That’s your philosophy, right?”

“I guess.”

“It’s a very useful language, the grammar is pretty straightforward, and their vocabulary is about a tenth of what ours is with the ability to communicate much more than Standard is capable of. If we’d have been smarter, less ethnocentrically stubborn about things, and adopted Golic as the lingua franca of the Federation, there’d be so much less animosity caused by morons who can’t convey what they want.” She laughed at a memory. “And, you can call them out when they think they’re getting away with talking shit about you. When you think you’re being complimented, and they tell you that you’re rivin-komihn or’nai’ga, that sounds pretty, maybe even honorable, right?”

“I guess.”

“You’ve just been called a twat, to your face.” She kept chuckling. “Well, technically, the straight translation is _immature human annoyance_ , but anyone who says that to you, they mean _twat_.”

Franklin’s brain seized on some past encounter. “Oh. . .”

“Some diplomatic staffer tried to butter you up with that line, huh?” She shined with her delight at imagining Franklin puffing out his chest at thinking he’d been singled out for some fancy term of respect. “Next time, inform them they’re a kuhku-kad sakal-sa’haf. Tell someone they’re a pustule riddled scrotum, they’ll never call you a twat again.”

He decided, after being reminded of more professional humiliation, he was done with her for the time being. Not wanting him to feel like he’d gotten a victory over her by ignoring her away, she said, “And you’ve got the gall to believe that I’m the ignorant one.”

  
  
  
Situated in the crate, waiting for Silvio to seal them in, Veddah had to hide his hands behind his back to keep from touching Laura. He and T’Danna, in the videoconferenced sessions with the Healer overseeing their bond, were told how it would be done and what to expect as it solidified. Veddah was warned he’d need more time than most to adjust, as the psionic part of his brain was larger than average and had additional re-wiring to do in order to accommodate his mate. Touching her mattered. His chafed mind needed more than the few hours she could scrape up for him at a time.

_Sit tight, Veddah. We’ll have a good four hours of complete privacy on our way down_.

Four wasn’t enough, he wanted to say.

“Silvio, what’s taking so long?”

The sound of a panel sliding into place and snapping home was Silvio on one side of the crate, putting something together. “Just making the last adjustments to the envro controls. It wouldn’t look too good if the Golden Girl wound up with double pneumonia because she got too cold and damp while locked in a box I made.”

“Good call.” She said.

So close his senses were full of her, it was agony holding back. He needed to exist within her, mentally and physically. He shivered in his desperation to make contact. (Adun’a. . .)

“Can someone get me a couple of blankets for Mr. Freezing-His-Ass-Off? I don’t want to have to put up with teeth chattering in my ear for the rest of the day. It will drive me mad.” Laura leaned out to make sure someone answered her request. “Now, damnit!”

She started singing nursery rhymes to keep Veddah distracted while Silvio had some other panel torn off until a crewman arrived with some hospital blankets.

Tucked in, the covers arranged in a way that left him feeling more separated from her, he decided the best thing was to try to retreat into meditation. Then, beneath the blankets, he felt cool fingers seeking out his.

_What they can’t see won’t hurt them, Adun_. And she visited upon him her dazzling white light.

  
  
  
Deputy Chief Howard caught up to Sha’leyen as she worked through the night to catch up on the tedious administrative parts of her job. “Mick, always nice to hear from you.”

“I’m finding I can’t stop thinking about this case of yours, Sarge. Don’t get much excitement here, mostly bar fights, domestics, and petty crimes. So, I’ve been following up on your marks.”

“You are bored, Mick.” She felt like Howard needed to get back to a bigger pond or he was going to wither away.

“According to the dealers, and I’ve spoken to every one of the bastards we saw them visit, she’s the talkative one. We knew that, of course.” So delighted to be working on something he deemed worthwhile, he looked like he did when she’d first encountered him when she was a trainee.

“Right.”

“It sounds like they were trying to find, and this is what I heard the most, a box you could use for jewelry or other small stuff.” He shrugged. “I don’t get it. Stash boxes are commonplace items. Why would anyone need one that’s thousands of years old and Vulcan?”

“Sorry Mick, I can’t tell you.”

“And I don’t know if this means anything to you, but one of the business owners insisted this was strange behavior. One of the last places they visited, the proprietor saw them kissing.”

That was. . . “Kissing? How?”

“This old gent who was telling me said he’d spent his younger years inspecting freight over in the Danube system. It was a popular weigh-station with Vulcan haulage firms, and he got to know some of the crews on the regular runs. He said they’ll do that finger-touch thing in public, which yours did, but that none he knew would dare give an open-mouthed kiss where anyone could possibly see them.”

“Strange indeed.” She replied, her mind chasing down what might make them do such a thing.


	50. Chapter 50

“Why is San Francisco dragging their feet on this, Admiral Holt?” Kirk was sick to death of standing around with his thumb up his ass. “If we’re not out there looking for this woman and no one else is either, she’s going to evaporate for another five years, twelve living Starfleet personnel in tow.”

“I understand that, Captain.” She pointed at herself. “You seem to forget that while I know what its like to ride that center seat, nine out of every ten of those bay-gazers there at Ops are career office boys. And that ten percent who’ve been out here with us? So few of them have commanded a starship as to be statistically insignificant. This is new territory for a lot of them and because it’s not about alien hostiles. They are spinning in the mud trying to figure out all of the intricacies of hunting down a civilian vessel full of humans.

“I’d say this should be straightforward, but after last year’s bullshit with USS Sevastapol and that hijacked Pan Am liner, Starfleet doesn’t want another business entity suing their asses off. And AVDL’s merchant fleet is officially registered with UFP Companies House as _Trego Delta Haulage and Charters_.” Miranda Holt was visibly frustrated. “If it were up to me, I’d tell you to mount Laura Hillyard’s head to a glossy mahogany plaque and send it to me so I can hang it on my office wall. My hands are tied.”

“What are we supposed to do? Sitting here at Starbase 21, idle, is eating away at morale. JAG contacted me earlier this morning to tell me that charges are re-filed on the remaining grave-robbers, but it’s weeks out until they need us back as witnesses. Lt. Johnson plead guilty to all charges yesterday, so we don’t need to be here for that either.” What was the point of having a ship like Enterprise if all she was going to do was collect dust while moored at a station?

“I’ll see what I can do. No promises, Kirk.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

When Admiral Holt signed off, Kirk hesitated before punching the button that patched him into the PA on the bridge. “Commander Spock, report to my office.”

Kirk made himself ignore the vacuous distance in his first officer’s eyes. There was no friendship, no affection, no acknowledgement that they may have ever known one another outside the strict confines of their professional environment. “Our orders are that we have no orders.”

Usually, one or the both of them might have said something a little sarcastic, but the air between them remained cold and silent.

“I want to find this she-devil miscreant, Spock. The legal team steering Starfleet Ops doesn’t want us looking for her because they’re clutching at their pearls, worried that AVDL might file a lawsuit if we scratch MV Sweetness’ paint job.” He tried to look Spock in the face but couldn’t get the man to engage. _Spock, for fuck’s sake_! _Throw me a line, please_.

“How is it that you intend to accomplish such a goal while the Enterprise remains static?”

“You know her, Spock. Tralnor knows her. The two of you should have enough to _intuit_ something about where she’s lurking.” _I’m desperate, give me something to go on_. “The diamond markets?”

“No changes as of yet, Captain.”

 _What happened to Jim_?

“Keep on that. We know what kind of ship Laura’s got. See if you can get a hold of any service records for MV Sweetness, or comparable records for ships in the same class. Might be there are recalls, specialized yard maintenance, we figure out where all of these ships go, and maybe we can follow her that way?”

 _I’d give anything to hear you call me Jim_.

Spock’s face remained as though cast from concrete. “I will see what I can find.”

“That’s great, just great.” Kirk nodded and looked at his computer screen. “Spock?”

“Yes, Captain.”

 _Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Jimmy_. “Dinner tonight? My quarters, 1900? We need to talk about things. . .”

The Vulcan said nothing and left the room.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Kirk said to the empty space.

  
  
  
Kirk didn’t know what was on his tray, just that he wasn’t interested in eating it. He’d come to the officers' mess to get out of his office for a while. An attempt at getting Admiral Komack to persuade the numpties back on earth to let Enterprise out of her kennel ended with Kirk on the verge of receiving a disciplinary action.

 _Heavens forbid I ever get stuck working at Starfleet Command_ , he thought. _But if I did, you’d better bet your ass that I wouldn’t stand for this garbage_. He stabbed his fork into something. _And I’d see to it that the chow was fit for human consumption_.

“What’s giving you bloat today, Jim?” The good doctor took a seat.

“Everything.” He scanned the room, knowing Spock wasn’t there, still wanting to lay eyes on him.

“Any idea when we’re pulling anchor and warping out of here?” McCoy’s growing concern about the crew’s mental health was another memo on Kirk’s blotter.

“About the time hell freezes over.”

  
  
  
ShuttleDirect vehicle, No. 742, landed in a field next to the Big House before it was hovered into the tractor barn. T’Lal was calling in favors from her old friends in the shipping industry to outfit the shuttle, so it was less the Gulfstream luxury box it was and more capable of protecting its occupants rather than coddling them.

As that retrofit progressed, T’Lal, a certified flight instructor, had Mollie and Joe at the controls of a Gulfstream S2090ER simulator. They’d entered what looked like a plain El Segundo warehouse near all the LAX rental car agencies to find a trove of realistic sims for many of the freighters and exec shuttles currently in service.

“You have killed us again, Mr. Bergman.” T’Lal said from the co-pilot’s seat.

“You’re overthinking it, Joe.” Mollie was sitting behind them, far enough back to evaluate the moves he made, when she didn’t have her nose buried in flight manuals and tried to offer some encouragement. “It needs to be more intuitive on your part.”

“This is why I always get a real pilot. I’m more than happy to pay someone to do this stuff.” He unbuckled the five-point restraints. “I don’t get why I need to know how to do this? Mollie’s taking 742 and meeting up with Enterprise.”

“There is a possibility you will be required on scene after the tavalik duv-tor is found. If Sarek and I are unavailable, flying commercial and/or hiring a pilot are not options you will have. ShuttleDirect will match you with another S2090ER, and you will have to fly it.” T’Lal indicated it was Mollie’s turn in the hot seat.

“At least until you can get to Sohja. She’s got an under-ten passenger rating and about five-hundred hours on little birds like this, but I doubt she’ll make it back to earth before you’d have to leave.” Mollie switched with him. He didn’t think he was up to this task despite everything else he’d pulled off so far.

“I’ve never wanted to do the actual flying. I just like looking out the windows.” He shuffled toward the rear.

“Be glad we’re not having to go for any ratings, Joe, that all we’ve got to do is get the bare minimum for a private license so we can get ourselves where we need to go.” Mollie was so grateful that she’d turn this chore over to the other three when she got to the Enterprise. She settled in her seat, buckled in, powered the Gulfstream up, and entered the destination T’Lal gave into the computer. “N-742SD to Tower. . .”

  
  
  
The academic angle of hunting down artifacts of malice was over. After a day of crashing shuttles in the simulator, T’Lal took Mollie and Joe to a genuine warehouse in City of Industry. The massive space was lit, one end done up as an impromptu firing range. Toward the entry, Sarek stood near a table covered in weapons that looked something out of a fantasy film.

“This evening, we are showing you how to take someone out in close quarters.” T’Lal pointed to gear. “Blades are especially useful on spacecraft.”

“Oh, I don’t like this.” Joe stopped.

“You will when it saves your life, Mr. Bergman.” Sarek said.

The human regarded the table like he might just run for it. “What about. . . I mean, you’re not supposed to be, I don’t know, _violent_?”

Mollie, like all Vulcan youth, was given thorough instruction in self-defense as part of training her mind and body to act as one. As university students, she and Sohja learned D’Alik’tal, the equivalent of rapier-dagger fighting. She was competent in some other larger weapons, but nothing like this. Jabbing, stabbing, throwing, slicing at a person on you and trying to kill you, that was new.

“What the fuck is that?” Joe pointed to a wicked little hatchet.

“In human parlance, it is a tomahawk.” T’Lal said. “It is designed to be thrown end-over-end and is very effective in dropping an enemy combatant.”

“ _Enemy combatant_?” Pale, Joe swallowed hard. “I can tell you’re talking from experience. You’ve both killed people, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Bergman.” Sarek, in the context of the mission they were preparing for, had no reason to deny causing death. “In situations where we were left with no choice.”

“Okay.” Joe said. “Thanks for being honest. . . I guess if it’s a me or them kind of thing, I’d better know how to save my own ass.”

  
  
  
“How does this impact what we’re doing?” Tralnor schlepped the war wagon while Spock walked alongside.

“Being an unofficial order, it should not affect us.” People approached, sending the conversation over to telepathy. (He is growing restless, as is the rest of the crew.)

(Do we send him on a wild goose chase?) Tralnor didn’t think that a decent strategy. Kirk wasn’t in the best place mentally and to have Spock block him out on a personal level and mess with him on a professional level to protect a sub-rosa extracurricular project might push the captain over the edge completely.

(It is not my intent to deceive him, but we cannot let him become involved in the Kennuk’s work. He will endeavor to help us any way he can and harm himself in the process. His life, his career, those are not worth wasting on this.) Spock granted himself the mental equivalent of a sigh. (We might satisfy him by giving him Laura’s trail at Vitell’s Star. He would be a couple steps behind us, but not underfoot, and not feeling like he has been lied to.)

(And we don’t have to give him anything on the tavalik duv-tor, because he’s after Laura and MV Sweetness. That’s a good compromise.)

(It should satisfy him for the time being.) Spock switched tracks. (This morning, he invited me to dinner, the two of us, his quarters.)

(What did you say?)

(Nothing. I did not acknowledge the request.)

Tralnor put the handbrake on the cart, opened the refrigerator compartment, and pulled some pre-mixed reagents for a scheduled drop-off. (That won’t have set well.)

(It does not have to.)

  
  
  
The molecular analysis of ketro’nistin let Sha’leyen understand its mechanism of action. On a non-psion, it would leave a person groggy and uncoordinated. It wasn’t terribly dangerous to a regular telepath either, knocking them into a temporary catatonic state most likely, but nothing deadly. The drug was designed to attack the empathic centers of a Mair-rigolauya’s mind, creating a kind of Chinese finger trap where the injured party and the empath were tied into one another, the link only breaking when the aggrieved was cured or the empath died.

The ancient Golic scientists tailored the drug specifically to the genetics and mental processes of the Mair-rigolauya. Sha’leyen could not account for the Vohr’s genetics if the creature came into being, but its hyper-stimulated psionic abilities had to include some variation of empathy, or at least use that part of the brain.

Aerosolizing it was not difficult. The mode of administration was something else. How could they protect Tralnor from it and still use it? There was not an antidote that she knew of and she was unable to formulate one due to lack of research trial capabilities. She couldn’t exactly go over to Starbase 21 and put in an order for twenty empathic white rats and run tests on them.

She needed to find Zakhira Tay. Sha’leyen felt her T’Kehr knew more about this drug than she let on.

  
  
  
Finally dispatched from Orbital Three to the surface of Trego Delta, Laura allowed Veddah to touch her how he needed. Her stress levels dropped perceptively the longer his hot skin was in contact with her. His mind slipped back into hers, now starting to feel like it was always meant to be there.

No longer stumbling blind, she perceived the place in her brain where he existed, knew its boundaries, and differentiated his energy from her own. Where at first the bond, on her side, seemed almost entirely one-way, him feeding into her, she inferred the permeability of the psychic membrane between them. Visualization let her see herself standing in front of a mirror made of an organic substance she would be able to push her body through before much longer.

Their minds were slowly knitting together like a broken bone healing over. She’d not appreciated the time or effort involved in making a marriage bond work. Betrothals at age seven were tiny shadows of what was coming. To leave this thing dangling, unfinished and raw, would still act as the dead man’s switch, with the danger of leaving him in worse condition than when he started on this rash quest.

Something private, something he wasn’t directly telling her, seeped across. _Had the choice been mine, I would not have rejected you from the educational system. If they had touched your mind, they would have seen your potential beyond the academic_.

 _What does that mean, beyond the academic_? She had to know, even if she came off as an eavesdropper.

(You heard that?)

She felt her eyes sting, a defiant tear slipped down her cheek. (You would have admitted me?)

(Say that again.) His features, slack from surprise, gave her a spot of worry. Was something going wrong?

(Say what?)

He pulled her close, wrapping himself around her, and set his forehead against hers. ( _You speak_ , Adun’a.)


	51. Chapter 51

Tralnor and Spock parted at the entrance to the media lab. The first officer walked off into the guts of the ship, no particular destination in mind, needing to move to burn off some restless energy. He knew he’d made a mistake when going past sick bay and McCoy nabbed him.

“Don’t you argue with me right now, Spock. Get in there and sit your ass down and stay down.” The doctor pointed toward his office.

What was the saying, no rest for the wicked? Spock obliged McCoy. To avoid a spluttering public confrontation, where the doctor screeched and flapped about, and Spock came off, yet again, as a cold bastard who cared more for the ship than the people aboard, was the Vulcan’s immediate objective.

“You need to ease up on Jim, Spock.” Level, worried, McCoy’s voice lacked the borderline histrionics Spock expected. “He knows he fucked up. He knows you’re mad at him and have good cause. All he wants is for the two of you to finish this five years out on good terms.”

“I am not ‘mad’ at the Captain.”

A touch of hope visited relief on the doctor’s features. “Now, I’m not saying you’ve got to give him another chance in the romance department, but don’t you think it might be nice for the both of you to—”

“I do not think anything in that regard, Dr. McCoy. If this is the only subject you want to address, it is not open for your speculation or value as entertainment.” Spock started to stand.

“I thought I told you to sit your ass down, Mister.”

Spock rose to his full height and made toward the exit.

“CMO’s orders.”

_I do not want a confrontation with you_ , Spock thought as he turned around.

“And I’ll let you up and out of here when I’m good and ready.” Arms crossed over his scrubs, McCoy was not teasing, not engaged in antagonistic banter for the fun of getting a rise out of Spock.

Seated, Spock said, “Yes, Doctor?”

“The best damned command team in Starfleet can’t function when one or the both of you is checked out. That is a fact. Unless you can start playing nice with one another again, you’re going to keep drifting until the Enterprise becomes every other ship in the fleet. We, the crew, the ship, work because the two of you work.”

“Are you attempting to guilt trip me, Doctor?” _There are no apologies left for the Captain to say. Sorry has lost its lustre. He needs to figure out if he wants me or not. He needs to let me recuperate. That is all_.

“If I thought it would work, I’d give it a shot.” He shrugged. “No sense in trying that out on you, is there?”

“No, there is not.”

“Here’s the thing, Spock, when it was looking like you and Jim were in love, and a relationship might happen, I was over the fucking moon. He’s always needed someone stable, someone who wasn’t going to hold his career against him, someone who understood him on a deeper level than others were willing to go. I’ve known him a long time, seen him struggle through an endless string of shitty relationships, and contrary to all of the urban legends, he wants to settle down with someone. You are that perfect someone.”

_Obviously, I am not, or you and I would not be locked in your office right now_ , Spock nearly said aloud.

“And I’ve spent the last two years losing sleep over you, you copper-blooded crazy man.” Hands back on the desk, McCoy wore his concern on his face. “After that shambolic wedding stunt on Vulcan, you better bet your last dollar that I did some research and got my hands on everything I could. I spent six weeks harassing Sha’leyen, day-in, day-out, to get her to tell me anything. There I was, only knowing that staying single could very well kill you.”

“What did you learn from the Lt. Commander?” Sha’leyen was the first person he sought out when he realized what was happening to him. He’d brimmed with an irrational hope that there was some obscure Belonite medicinal compound she knew of to stop the Fever or at least slow it down. When she told him there was nothing. . . He’d tried to touch her, his hormone-addled body overriding the logical part of his brain. _I cannot help you that way either_ , she said. His immediate response was that no one would have a grossly offensive half-breed like him if they could help it. That’s when she delivered a psionic hit where he felt the ripples and bulges and snarls of scar-tissue, the adhesions, the constant pain, the nerve damage and malfunction in her lower abdomen.

“Before you think about reading her the riot act about disclosing Vulcan’s dirty laundry, I asked her some very pointed questions when you were going down with the pon farr. All she’d say was that we needed to take you home because the arrangements were made. That’s it.”

_You are worthy of me in this way, Spock S’chn T’gai. It is I who is broken_. Those words seared and he’d fled, humiliated and horrified that his acute condition put her in such a situation.

“I will not admonish her for aiding you with the crew’s welfare.” _Not when she has never spoken of my temerarious attempt at propositioning her_.

“She’s told me that it’s going to be hard to find the right person for you and that one of the reasons they pair you up when you’re kids is that your bondmate grows up with you and that you should have adapted to and been used to one another by the time you get married. Love matches can be fraught with all kinds of pitfalls if minds don’t line up the way bodies do. You may be compatible in every way with someone, but can’t get the psionic part to take, and while that’s not really an issue outside of the Fever, you need the telepathic element in the plak-tow.”

“She is correct.”

“But you and Jim, there’s no question of your mental compatibility. He’s not a psion, and that doesn’t matter since you’ve proven multiple times that when you’ve melded, you fit together like you were bespoke for one another. Surely that’s got to mean a lot?” Blue eyes begged Spock to reconsider his blockade of Kirk’s affections. Not getting a reply, McCoy didn’t become animated, he started to show signs of defeat instead. “So, what are you going to do when your Time comes?”

_I shall be rapacious and destroy someone else’s life so Jim Kirk cannot destroy mine_. “I have a contingency plan. Get some sleep, Doctor.”

  
  
  
If whinging about boredom were an Olympic sport, Lt. Chavez stood a fair shot at being crowned squad captain. He nervously faffed around the lab impinging on those who were doing any real work. His deprecating staff only loathed him more.

Squirrelly Yeoman made an appearance right as Tralnor got the war wagon squared away. “Dr. Tralnor, a package arrived for you over at the Starbase.”

Chavez was up in Squirrelly’s personal space, trying to glimpse any details from the small wooden crate. “Are you sure this is for the Doctor?”

“Someone’s jealous his mummy didn’t send him a care package.” A crewman said just loud enough to hear.

“Mail, from _Scotland_?” Chavez looked ready to gag. “Some people have all the—”

When Tralnor saw the last name attached to the return address, he started, hesitant to accept the delivery. Squirrelly handed off the crate, red in the face, reliving the embarrassment of the violin incident, and escaped.

“ _What_? You look like he just gave you a coffin.” Chavez was drooling for a distraction. “Open it.”

He took it to his station where he could at least sit down. Guy and Cressida Balloch weren’t going to send Tralnor anything that wasn’t a heartrending reminder of their son. Their turbulent emotions, etched into the crate, crept into his nerves and provoked an empathic reaction. They still couldn’t come to grips with their boy being murdered for who he chose to love and associate with.

“At least read the packing slip.” Chavez demanded.

Sent to Tralnor, care of Officer Location Services, an included note said they were going through some old things and found the crate with instructions tacked to it that if anything should happen, Jock wanted Tralnor to have the contents. Guy and Cressida didn’t open it and forwarded it along, undisturbed.

It took a pair of pliers to turn the seized buckles. Lid set to the side, Tralnor was greeted by a strip of tiny images from an old-fashioned photo booth. He and Jock, maybe twenty, probably twenty-one, were making faces in all but the last frame. In that final little square, they weren’t looking at the camera because they were facing one another, engaged in a kiss.

Heart pounding in his ears, he lifted the yellowed piece of paper that said: _Start Here_. A stack of postcard size prints tied with a tartan ribbon, Tralnor felt his departed friend’s warmth. Each photo contained a split-second of a memory. He didn’t know who saw as they stared over his shoulder. Seven snapshots in, he had to set them to the side, and left a frozen moment of Jock Balloch, Amelie Grace, and Paulette Gordon, smiling as they posed in front of a departures board at LAX, as the top of the stack.

Random trinkets: the 5-ball from a rough biker bar in Butte, Montana, a cloisonné Tournament of Roses lapel pin, a cheap plastic snow-globe from their crazy junior class trip to Seattle for the University of Washington game, a capped test tube held a desiccated clump of turf from Notre Dame stadium ‘ _SC 34 irish 6’_ written on one side, ‘ _Fuck the irish_!’ on the other, a pair of spats signed by various famous musicians the marching band performed with, and a little white horse figurine painted to look like Traveler, one of the university’s mascots. This was the top quarter of whatever this time capsule contained.

Another sheet of paper said: _I regret my silence/It cost me dearly/You deserve the love/Of someone who can actually say it_. Beneath it was a padded envelope that contained a smaller box.

The crumbling remains of a thistle were tied around the box which was wrapped in a sheet of expensive pink paper. Both the plant and the paper were held by a disintegrating length of twine. The back side of this sheet of stationery and the grinding anguish coming from the thing it covered left Tralnor wishing he could teleport away from this crowd and lick his wounds in private.

A set of matching men’s wedding bands, an intricate Celtic knot design engraved on the outside, the announcement of Amelie Grace’s pregnancy with Kayva on the pink paper, and Jock’s annotation: _I’m sorry, Tralnor. I never had the balls to ask you, and I love you both too much to intervene in this_.

“At least I know why I never saw him again before he died.” The year Kayva was conceived had been a roller coaster of turmoil and grief, and the layers continued to grow. Not only had Jock abruptly disappeared from his life, but Tralnor’s brother John, his wife, and their two sons also died in an accident that January. Their brother Jason, overwhelmed by the loss, committed suicide in March. Anya Willis, Tralnor’s wife at the time, desperate to try to save their marriage, still refused to enter into a bonding, but decided they should have a child. Sterile, Anya came across a photo of Amelie Grace, thought her husband’s friend looked enough like her to be a surrogate, and his younger daughter was created via IVF. He and Anya were divorced by August. Amelie Grace was still having his baby, and they decided to do it together, an endeavor between friends. Kayva was over a year old when Tralnor married her mother.

“And they’re both dead because of me.” He said before getting up and walking away from his station.

  
  
  


Spock, who’d shown up to steal Tralnor so they could commiserate with Sha’leyen, witnessed the unboxing and caught the musician before he escaped. “Their murders are not your fault. Jock Balloch and Amelie Grace were good people caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The AVDL was going to slaughter anyone that day they felt like.”

“If they hadn’t known me. . .”

“They were my friends as well.” Spock said as he went to the workstation and repacked the crate to take with them. He paused to look at the snapshot on the top of the tartan ribbon stack. Paulette’s voice echoed in his mind with the phrase she’d met him with every morning, _Who loves you, bay-bee_? _That’s right, I do_!

  
  
  
Even in the depths of soul-impinging exhaustion, Mollie knew kissing wasn’t behavior normally displayed for public consumption. “I hope it’s just part of whatever act they’re putting on.”

“In that disgusting video, it’s obvious he doesn’t know how to kiss.” Omnipresent, Joe offered his observations. “How does he go from that to sucking face with the devil in an antique store?”

“It means something sinister.” Tralnor said. “If she’s terrorized Veddah to the point where he’d comply with something like that, he’s in more danger than we thought.”

“Ambassador Scary Uncle said this kid might be looking at something called hishal-vimevilau riyeht-kashik. And that if we don’t find him soon, the damage could be permanent.” Joe said. “I didn’t know Vulcans could suffer nervous breakdowns.”

“We’ve figured out who Veddah is. Sarek did some discrete prodding, and I’ll include that info with the encrypted law enforcement files I’m sending you.” Mollie propped her head on her hand, trying not to fall into a dead sleep. “Laura’s record is the kind of reading that makes you think novelists aren’t trying hard enough to come up with story and character ideas.”

“She’s knocked off banks, built mail bombs, extorted people, murdered others, trafficked in slaves, and raped this poor kid, how does all of this exist within one person?” The dark circles beneath Joe’s eyes gave him a sunken appearance. “If I didn’t have such reliable sources, I’d say Laura Hillyard was the product of an inexperienced screenwriter’s imagination. Mollie says she’s also terrifyingly smart.”

“She did not graduate from high school, yet she wrote the sniffer that found Enterprise’s obscure security leak, the follow-up attack virus that nearly killed us all, and the trojan horse that resulted in the destruction of the interfaces between the computers and our warp engines.” Spock was one of the few people who knew not to confuse Laura’s dearth of formal education with a lack of intelligence. “Under different circumstances, she might have become a leading light in warp systems engineering.”

“Mollie, can we forward the police files to Captain Kirk?” Sha’leyen asked.

“You’re letting him in on what we’re doing?” That was an unsound idea, involving someone who proved the reality that Vulcans could indeed have nervous breakdowns.

“A distraction technique to keep him away from what the Kennuk is engaging in.” The bioarchaeologist replied.

“Send them along.”


	52. Chapter 52

He thought he’d try his luck with one more of the gurus at Starfleet Command. Whatever Komack said or did the day before, Nogura upped the ante, giving Kirk heart palpitations.

“It’s easy for you to exist out there in your little bubble of starship command, Captain Kirk, only ever having to worry about Enterprise. I know you think all we do here in San Francisco is play shuffleboard and drink Mai Thais.” Nogura had a bulgy vein on the left side of his forehead that twitched and swelled the more irritated he got. Right now, it looked like a cobra drawing back to attack. “We are monitoring the entire Melbek III situation and the related minutiae very closely.”

“You can monitor until your lips turn blue, Sir, but standing by and taking your sweet time is how my ship ended up dead in the water and put USS Seren’s crew in place to be slaughtered. You have to send us back out there so we can capture the monster who did this before she strikes again.” The instant the words flew off his tongue, Kirk knew he’d gone past the point where Nogura might brush him off as a noisy space-cowboy.

Not amused, Nogura stiffened. “Are you presuming to tell me how to do my job, Captain?”

“No, Sir.” Kirk’s fingernails dug into his knees. He was glad the Admiral couldn’t see what he was doing with his hands.

“Enterprise is on stand-by. Not to your liking? That’s too bad, Mr. Kirk. Honestly, I’m tired of hearing about your devil-may-care approach to command and how you repeatedly swoop in to save the day at the very last second. Polish your boots, host a bowling tournament, I don’t care what you do so long as it involves following Command’s orders to the letter.” The cobra vein branched, assuming a more lightning-like shape. “This is the real world, Captain, where your swashbuckling antics will not be rewarded. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” He had to choke back the fight burning in his mind.

“You don’t know just how easy you’ve got it out there, Kirk. A man and his boat is sweet simplicity, straightforward like knots and crosses. Starfleet Ops is where the big kids play the hard games and crunch the devil’s algebra. There’s no sneaking in the night before and reprogramming the computers to act in your favor.” Nogura was satisfied with this admonishment. His smarmy Buddha-esque face only added weight to the millstone around Kirk’s neck.

_You were the holdout_. He came to an ugly realization. _You were the one who wanted to expel me from the Academy since you didn’t appreciate my unique approach to solving the Kobayashi Maru. You were outvoted and have been gunning for me ever since._

“The buck stops here, Son. You will await your orders. Nogura, out.”

  
  
  
Miranda Holt was fit to be tied. “Any chance I had at helping you just went down the toilet. Nogura? Of all the people you could have contacted at Command? What in all that is holy were you thinking?”

“I was—” His brain grasped for the words.

“He’s always believed you to be an insolent man-child who commands by the sheer will of a cult of personality. You have shit the bed on this, Captain.” She nearly cut the connection. “And this close to the end of your five years. . .”

“So I challenged him a little. Who cares?” Kirk shrugged and grinned a bit. “I’m only acting on behalf of my crew and trying to make it as good as I can for them.”

“What _were_ your plans during and after the refit?”

Were? That was not a happy portent. “I’ve been in talks to go on a speaking tour. I’ve got nine months of leave I’ve been accruing for years now and thought I’d go tell people about the Final Frontier. Then, I’m overseeing my girl as she’s getting her facelift. Once that’s done, its back to the stars.”

“My advice is that you’d better start looking for a long-term rental home in San Francisco, maybe even think about buying.”

Slightly amused at the comment, he said, “What makes you say that?”

“Mark my words: Nogura’s going to ground you the second you make it into earth orbit.”

This couldn’t be a serious prediction. Kirk felt sure Holt was just trying to say, in a more psychologically jarring way than she might usually, that he needed to shape up and follow the status quo for a while longer. “He wouldn’t. . . Starfleet needs me out here.”

“That might be true, Kirk. You might not be allergic to bees either, but kicking a hornet nest can still get you stung so many times you become overwhelmed, and you die.”

What could he say to that? “I appreciate you sticking your neck out for me like you have, Ma’am.”

“Whatever you do, sit tight at 21.” Her tone and expression were sober. “Laura Hillyard can blow up a nursing home and start selling babies as dog food from the next berth over beginning tonight. If you so much as think about taking her down without direct permission from Command, Nogura will rake you over the coals so fast you’ll be on the next shuttle home to the family farm in Nebraska before you realize you’ve caught fire.”

“Iowa.” He uttered.

Miranda Holt was off-balanced by Kirk’s reaching out to Nogura. He’d never seen her like this, even during an ugly incident on his Cadet cruise when she was captain of the USS Meritorious. He was on a landing party with her when a guard shack at a Frentian royal compound exploded. She had a meter-long chunk of re-bar impaled through her right lung and was less worried then than she was now.

“Sometimes, we just have to bend over and take it.” She’d followed the trajectory of his career and advocated on his behalf over the years. Why was she so worried about Nogura?

He nodded. “And my crew?”

“Work on drills, cross-training, and gaining new credentials. Grant some leave to non-essentials. Make everyone go through the PTSD recognition protocol, again. I hear some of your science officers are musicians and film-makers, ask them to put on some entertainment.”

He nodded along.

“Hang in there, Captain.”

The instant Kirk signed off, the room started to spin as the implications of what Holt said, if her prediction was accurate, starved his brain of oxygen and stunned his lungs into not inflating. A crushing tightness took over his chest and radiated down his arms. Fever sweat pooled in uncomfortable places and stars danced in his field of vision.

He slid from his chair to his knees, as sweaty palms refused to make purchase on the slick surfaces of the furniture. His last thought as his head impacted the edge of his desk was how it would kill him to see his silver lady warping away without him in the center seat.

  
  
  
Alone in his office, Spock was collating data from the collective AVDL police reports, focusing on MV Sweetness and her known crew. Ex-captain, Corliss Fish, was serving fifteen years on racketeering and tax evasion. First officer, Silvio Mazzi, mostly a hired thug, had at one time been a fine arts student at the University of Chicago before his racist antics caught up to him and he was advised to drop out. He’d done some jail time for various assaults but kept a relatively low profile for an AVDL member so close to those at the top.

Spock searched out one other specific individual, knowing he needed to make a meeting in half an hour. When he found Dr. Manfred Hoskins, DVM, the criminal record on that guy was going to take a lot longer to read than the twenty minutes he had. He breezed through the cover page to see Hoskins’ veterinary medicine license was permanently revoked because of an extensive history of rape and molestation charges. Spock dared to open the first case that had resulted in a conviction and was met with an array of revolting evidentiary photos. Veddah would not have survived such an attack.

The thought made Spock feel physically ill, but it formed in his brain nonetheless. _Laura saved Veddah’s life_.

He exited the files and completed a couple of breathing exercises because throwing up wasn’t going to help anything. As he regulated his pulse to a normal rate, a burst of pain knifed horizontally through his forehead. Momentarily dazed, Spock blinked while trying to gain his bearings. His vision flickered twice, where he saw for only a fraction of a second, not the room he was in, but one nearly as familiar.

His hand fell to the desk com. “Sick bay, this is Chapel.”

“Nurse, may I speak to Dr. McCoy?”

“Are you in your quarters? I can be there right away.”

 _Damn that woman_ , he thought. “Tell him to meet me in Captain Kirk’s office.” 

Silence for a few seconds, then, “Um?”

“ _Now_ , Nurse Chapel.”

  
  
  
Penlights shining in his eyes, fingers waving, questions about the date, his name, where he was at, all Kirk's physical self wanted was to go to sleep. Fingers snapped in his ear.

“Wake up, Jim.”

Mind detached from his body, the captain looked down from the light fixtures and watched McCoy fuss over him. “Extremely elevated stress hormone levels, low blood sugar, dehydration, lack of sleep, he’s lucky he just wanged his head. Spock, help me get him up on the sofa.”

His beautiful Vulcan entered the scene and left McCoy with the heavy end. Spock picked up the captain’s feet and ankles, so hands and fingers had layers of socks, trousers, and boot leather between them and Kirk’s skin.

“I think it’s for the best if I treat him here rather than us dragging him through the ship. Keep watch until I get back with some supplies.” The doctor disappeared.

 _Talk to me, Spock. I’m here. I promise to listen_. Kirk felt himself start to descend from the ceiling. His body’s systems were shaking off the shock, reeling him back into the corporeal realm. Once down to a height where he ‘looked’ his first officer in the eye, he thought, _Oh! To reach out and touch you_. . .

Invisible fingers traced the outline of Spock’s jaw, thumbs ran over his lips, and Kirk imagined the delicious warmth radiating from his skin. _Sometimes, I wish that you could see you the way I see you, that I could wipe the pain of inadequacy from your heart. I want to show you who and what you really are, not the recurring failure your father sees, not the lab bench monster Laura Hillyard sees, not the heartless commander so much of the crew sees_.

Chocolate brown eyes did not register Kirk’s presence, so he got closer. _I would kiss you, let you feel my love for you as our minds touch. I’d give you my admiration for your kindness and accommodation_. Touched his neck and drew a petal-soft line from his clavicle to the tip of his ear. _I’d transfer to you the concept of unconditional love in the hope that one day you may also love yourself_.

Lips brushed against lips that couldn’t experience the sensation.

  
  
  
“You can’t let them take her away from me.” Kirk’s words slurred and his pupils were sluggish, but McCoy was confident Jim hadn’t done any real damage. IV hydration, glucose tablets, the captain was coming around.

“What is he on about, Spock?” The doctor took another reading. Blood pressure steady, that was good.

“I do not know. He has repeated the same statement six times since regaining consciousness. He has not said anything else.”

“Jim, according to my readings, it looks like you had a panic attack. That’s what made you smack your head.” A shot of B vitamins would help too.

The captain tried to rearrange his body so he could sprawl out on the sofa. “Tired, Bones.”

“Nope.” McCoy moved him back to his previously upright position. “You’ve got to play by my rules right now, or we’re hauling you off to sick bay. You’re going to stay awake and interact with us.”

“Because of rules. . .” Kirk touched his forehead and winced like he was discovering the injury for the first time. “Bones, you can’t let them take her away from me.”

“Follow my fingers.”

Kirk’s eyes tracked better than they were focusing.

“The leading causes of death amongst Starfleet vessel command staff, mind these are the private numbers us CMOs hoard and San Francisco won’t let us share, are these broad categories: stress, industrial accidents, acute illnesses of initially unknown etiology, transit accidents, hold-my-beer-misadventures, and suicide. Stress puts more of you into forced retirement every year than getting passed over for promotion, limbs lost to machinery, and disciplinary issues combined. You hear what I’m saying, Jim?”

“Heard, Doctor.” The captain replied.

“Good. Later, when you can ambulate and not sway around like you just got your bell rung, Kuznetsov is going to collect you, and you’re spending two days over on the starbase. She’s a trained medic, and former Medical Corpsman, and will keep me up to date without me being there in person breathing down your neck.” McCoy added a few more vitamin and mineral supplements to Jim’s chart. “Doctor’s drug of choice for your current condition: vacation.”

“Can’t do that. I’m waiting on orders.”

“Enterprise has been contacted by Command. We are officially on standby, as is the Dragon.” Spock reported.

“It’s him.” Jim said. “Nogura. He’s going to convince them to take her away from me.”

  
  
  
It was like the flapping of butterfly wings, Spock concluded. And the butterflies carried with them a zephyr of unadulterated human emotion. Free from the interference of jealousy, lust, and insecurity, love touched him.

There was no physical sensation, not in the way a humanoid nervous system could process it, but he had perception of his own electromagnetism, and a familiar presence had visited him there in the captain’s office. The unconscious mind, in Spock’s psionic experiences, was vastly less inhibited than when a person was aware of themselves, like the way alcohol shows many people for who they actually are.

Love.

In this form, it wasn’t staked to sex or romance, friendship or family ties, it simply was. And it would always be.

Now, he knew with complete certitude. _James Tiberius Kirk loves me_.


	53. Chapter 53

Mollie didn’t know, so Tralnor called Joe at home. The film-maker was passed out on the overstuffed lounge when he answered. He wearily shoved himself into a sitting position. “Ah shit, is something wrong?”

“It’s—” Tralnor stopped so he could move the crate out of the camera’s visual range. “Did you know Jock was thinking about proposing?”

Immediately grief-stricken at the mention of their friend, Joe averted his gaze and gave a slight shake of his head. “I helped him pick out the rings. He was here in LA with me, on leave. He was going to drive up to Turlock and pop the question. He was nervous, afraid you’d say no. You’d just off-loaded that gold-digger, Anya. You know we all hated her, right?”

“Right.”

“He scratched three attempts in two weeks. Then, the day he says he’s doing it, even if I have to hold a gun to his head, a big pearlescent envelope with all of your Clan seals and whatnots is delivered by a courier from the consulate. And there we were, standing at my kitchen counter, and we learn Snarfle is pregnant enough with Kayva that she’s starting to show. He didn’t stick around long enough to read the letter saying how and why Kayva was on her way. I didn’t see him again until the funeral when they were lowering him into the ground.” Joe collapsed into the cushions, wanting to burrow away from this resurgence of bad memories. “How do you know about this?”

“His parents forwarded some items from his estate.” He didn’t have the will to give any of the particulars.

“No one else knew except for me and the jeweler who sold him the rings, and I never said anything because what is the appropriate way to approach that subject? Oh, by the way, the guy you and the girl who’s having your kid used to have three-ways with wanted to marry you? That sounds like the plot to the world’s worst soap opera, but because it ends when two of the three main characters are murdered by human supremacists, it’s really a horror movie no one wants to see again.”

“All I knew is that he suddenly stopped taking my calls or replying to messages. Kayva’s birth announcement was posted back to me with just the red return-to-sender notice stamped on the front of the envelope.” Mystery solved.

“Your mom brought Kayva down to LA yesterday.” Joe smiled. “She is an amazing kid, Tralnor. Snarfle would be so proud of you both.”

  
  
  
The woman struggled against Laura’s raptor hold on her cheeks and lower jaw. Long nails sunk into skin and a swift wrench to the right held the panicking professor’s face right where Laura could keep her undivided attention.

“ _No, no, no_ , Professor Goodwin.” Laura said. “We don’t touch things that do not belong to us.”

“I’m s-s-sorry.” Goodwin stuttered into Laura’s palm.

“Now, I want you to look at what’s mine.”

Light eyes trembled and fixed on Veddah. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Pressure from Laura’s hand increased, drawing a pathetic moan. “When you first set your gaze on us as we entered, what should you have immediately inferred?”

“He’s a slave.”

Fitted with a prop slave-collar, Veddah appeared more personal possession than prisoner. “Which means what, Dr. Goodwin?”

“He belongs to someone.”

 _Me_! _He belongs to me_! Laura mentally hurled that declaration at this member of the so-called educated elite. “He’s mine, yes?”

Goodwin’s eyes bulged, quivering in a near panic, and she nodded to show that she understood.

“We keep our hands to ourselves, yes?”

Still nodding.

“And for bonus points on this quiz, why specifically do we not touch Vulcans unless we absolutely have to?”

Goodwin didn’t know. She’d never seen a Vulcan in person before today and was fortunate Veddah didn’t throw her across the room because the turbulent part of his mind where the bond was coming together sussed her out as a threat to his new marriage.

“Because that’s how they read your mind.” Laura let go and Goodwin staggered away, rubbing at her face, another shock to her system. “Never knew they were psions? But, here you are, tenured, foremost expert on pre-Terran archaeology on Trego, and you don’t know enough about the people who were here before us to not walk up to one and touch his face?”

AVDL effectively owned and operated the Trego system, and Goodwin knew she couldn’t call security on any of its starship captains, let alone the vicious creature that graced their ad campaigns. She sat behind her desk and folded her hands. “How may I help you today, Captain Pichushkin?”

Laura explained what she was looking for and let the professor enter search terms into the database containing Trego Tech’s curated collections. She pointed at a promising entry. “Try that one.”

A knock on the door kicked off a panic in Goodwin. She shook so hard she mis-selected artifacts and pulled a votive tribute to Ny’one, the god of fertility. At twenty centimeters, the stone phallus had, instead of the veining one might find on a dildo meant for practical use, swirling words carved into the shaft that were overlaid in Llangalon emerald. If she’d had the time, Laura might have stopped to study it.

More knocking and Goodwin, managing to make the picture larger instead of closing out that item, led her to start whimpering. The door opened and a young man walked right in like universe owed him something. “Dr. Goodwin, we need to talk about my grade on the arch methods research proposal. . .”

The kid didn’t look up from his data padd until Laura swatted it out of his hands. “One of the most valuable things I learned from the slant-browed motherfuckers who created the archaeology you’re here to bitch about is that a closed door is a locked door. It’s a fantastic philosophy.”

“It’s the Golden Girl.” He wasn’t so worried about his classes when he realized who she was and went into a state of awe and semi-erectness. Then he made the dumbest move possible and placed a hand on her arm.

Veddah’s inherent tension screed across the bond and shook Laura’s brain like a pulse from a high-voltage line. He couldn’t help his reaction to a sexually aroused male so close to his mate. Before she could peel the handsy little prick off her, the Vulcan tackled the student and hurled him from the room. “Come near her again, and I will kill you.”

(He’s gone, Veddah.) Laura closed the door and engaged the locking mechanism. “You mind shifting the picture of that giant green cock? All you’re doing is making him horny.”

On the verge of fear releasing her bowels, Goodwin got rid of the photo. “I’m not too proud to beg or bribe. I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t let him do anything to me.”

“Oh, please. He wouldn’t dream of dipping his wick in you.” Laura removed Goodwin from the computer terminal and started doing for herself. “I don’t share my vibrator. I’m not sharing him. Security, labor, and sex, that’s why I’ve got him.”

Laura wheeled the professor around the desk and backed her into a corner. “Sit tight, Prof, if your backwater university has what I’m looking for, I’ll find it.”

  
  
  


This was the third university they’d visited in two days. The University of Campbell City taught some archaeology courses but didn’t have collections or specialists. Pensacola Arts and Letters had nothing. Trego Tech had the Ross-Hambly Museum of Humanity and “expert” Dr. Goodwin.

“You would not believe some of the things listed in here. It’s a smorgasbord of fe-Surak za-vel’ar t’kator-dva, pre-Reform artifacts galore. It looks like there used to be a massive temple complex about fifteen clicks south of the Corvitt Refinery.”

Laura bid him behind the desk to see what she was talking about. Before coming into contact with her, Veddah never had much interest in pre-Reform history. He was not comfortable with the reminders that he was not far removed from people who were within a hair’s breadth of self-perpetuated armageddon. It was enough his visceral reaction to that other man touching his wife was so excessive he’d not recognized himself in that moment.

His _wife_. . . Psionically, legally, she was his spouse. His feelings about her clashed. When he decided to create the bond, he didn’t think it a possibility for their minds to develop a rapport. He assumed she’d refuse to accommodate the process for making it stable, that she’d delight in causing him more pain, do things like have sex with someone else just to work him into a frenzy and tease him about it. The bond was merely a means to an end. After leaving Vitell’s Star, they’d not seriously brought up p’pil’lay, the severing, either. As he got to know the genuine person beneath the Golden Girl facade, and he comprehended her motivations for choices she made, he grew more conflicted about her.

She wasn’t a good person, but she was good to him in ways that mattered. When she’d told him if she’d wanted him dead, he’d be in the ground on Melbek III, she’d meant it. She’d saved him from a sadistic death inflicted by Dr. Hoskins. She protected him from the rest of her crew. Last night, she’d used the term “making love” as the descriptor for the physical intimacy they shared, and she explained how it went beyond the biological act of copulation. Why did she make love to him rather than fuck him as she did all the other people who’d come to her bed?

This morning, he asked why she liked him while they shared in the post-coital afterglow. She said he was an individual as opposed to an institution. . .

“What about this?” She selected item 171-d42-TREGD204. The box was carved from a solid block of swirled green and black Golic granite.

  
  
  
“You don't think what he was saying is true, do you, Spock?” McCoy was more unsettled about Jim’s claims regarding Nogura than the panic attack because Nogura could legitimately give anyone a panic attack. “Command won’t yank him off the Enterprise.”

“I cannot think of a valid reason to divest the Captain of his ship.” And if Spock couldn’t come up with some obscure regulation or clause that allowed for such an abrupt reassignment, what had sent Jim into such a conniption?

“We all know Nogura is an asshole. He’s legendary for his dick-baggery, and takes a lot of his frustration at his short-lived and less-than-adventurous starship career out on young up-and-comers. Maybe all he wants is to provoke Jim to piss him off?” Something McCoy said got a glance of concern from the Vulcan.

“Provocation. The Admiral wants to incite Captain Kirk into behaving in such a manner that he gives Command an excuse to transfer him to a permanent ground assignment at Headquarters.”

“Damnit.” The doctor agreed with Spock’s assessment. “That will kill him.”

  
  
  
Mollie and her mother walked along the same stretch of beach she’d fled in terror on her first trip to earth. There were not many people around. The day was cool, cloudy, and damp, air heavy with moisture.

“You’re getting better in the sims, Mollie. T’Lal’s a strict instructor. I know because she’s the one who taught me how to fly. I think you’ll be adequate enough to just scrape by considering the time frame. I don’t think Joe will pass the licensure.” Livia stuffed her loose hair down the back of her jacket to keep the sea wind from whipping it into her face.

Unsure of what to say about Joe, Mollie opted for silence. They kept their southward movement for another fifty meters.

“I had a very _interesting_ talk with Sarek this afternoon while you were out.” Livia linked arms with her daughter. “Is it true that you’re marrying Spock?”

Gut-punched, Mollie stopped. “Sarek said that?”

“He asked me if Clan Surak and Clan Lyr Saan could make a joint announcement next month. I just about choked.” Livia moved to face her daughter. “What’s going on, Mollie?”

“We can’t let him make that announcement, Mom.” Light-headed, Mollie leaned into her mother for support. “This is— _damn that man_. He only ever hears what he wants to hear.”

“He’s absolutely delighted that his son has found such a compatible spouse.” Livia walked them toward the car park and found a bench where they could commiserate and look out on the water. “When I asked how he found out about this engagement, he said he’d heard it from you.”

“That’s not. . .” Mollie shook her head in irritation rather than disbelief. “He told me he hoped Spock would choose me. I said I would if he asked, which is true, but that’s all. I never said anything that would make anyone think it was a definitive declaration, the only exception being in Sarek’s land of wishful thinking.” Her stomach started cramping at the thought that he’d told anyone other than her mother.

“I shoulder some of the blame for this.” Livia wrapped an arm around Mollie and brushed the stray locks of hair out of her face. “I should have found you a bondmate. Instead, three young hopeful parents thought they might outwit T’Pau. Here we are, decades later, and this whole hot mess is still blowing up in our faces.”

“Do you think you can convince Sarek to not say anything? He’ll never listen to me. Tell him I’m the emergency back-up and that we won’t know for years if a marriage is happening or not. You can even tell him we desperately hope it’s a not.”

“He won’t like that, and coming from me, he’ll insist on reminding me that this is what we wanted when you were children. He has no comprehension that it could be any different now and can’t digest that you’re both adults who don’t have to succumb to what your parents or Clan want.”

“This is a disaster.” Mollie started to shiver. “And I can’t tell him that I’d refuse Spock’s proposal. There won’t be a repeat of last time. I would not be another T’Pring. I will go to him if he needs me, but that’s not enough for a betrothal announcement.”

“How long?”

“It’s been just over two years. Enterprise has almost another year on her mission. He’s pretty sure he’s coming back to teach at the Academy while the refit is going on and that’s projected to last about three years. It’s turning the corner on year seven when we need to start getting concerned. At least, that’s what we think, assuming his being a hybrid doesn’t throw things off.”

“He should stay on a normal cycle now that it’s begun. Lyr Saan men are late bloomers too, and their reproductive genetics are very mixed up with their human DNA. That’s four years to figure this out.” Livia decided they needed to warm up in the car. “Wasn’t it only a month ago that you told me Spock had found the man of his dreams? What’s going on with that?”

“Jim’s human, very human. And Spock doesn’t know how to navigate the minefield of Jim’s hang-ups. He’s apparently really pissed that Spock’s not a virgin, which I don’t understand at all. He’s upset that Spock has friends outside of Starfleet, or even off the ship. They’re not communicating on the same wavelengths. They get close to giving what’s between them a label, before acting out on any of their feelings. Then, Jim jumps to conclusions about mine and Spock’s relationship, the claws come out, and Spock’s the one who winds up trying to pick up the pieces.” Mollie punched in the local news station on the radio. “If Jim doesn’t cool it, his idea that Spock and I are riding off into the sunset together will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“Sarek doesn’t know about this Jim fellow, does he?” Livia turned the news off.

“Mom, can you not say anything about that? Sarek knows Jim, but doesn’t know his son’s interest in him. I don’t want that to set off another twenty-year cold war.”

“I won’t say a word about Jim before he does.”

“ _This is just going to get worse_. . .” Mollie had a nagging worry she’d carried around for years. “Does he know Spock is dah’guvik?”

“I’m not certain. T’Pau took charge of Spock’s betrothal, and she’s the one who worked with the matchmaker. She knows, but as to her telling Sarek?”

“Spock won’t have disclosed it. He can barely put it into words with me.” His sexuality shouldn’t be an issue, but it was hard to tell if Sarek would take exception just to be a bastard.

“Though he’s staunchly traditional, Sarek’s not a homophobe. If he was, he wouldn’t have asked me, a lesbian, for help in conceiving his child, nor would he have allowed the use of my gametes. He’s never said anything against you as dah’guvik, other than pointing out your questionable choice in human women.” Livia said.

 _Thanks for another Zadie reminder_ , Mollie thought.

“I’ll see that I get through to him. No engagement announcement.”

“Thank you, Ko-mekh.”

“You’re welcome, Ko-fu.”


	54. Chapter 54

Starbase 21 had some excellent restaurants, theaters, a full-service amusement park, gardens, art venues. Kirk gratefully played the tourist and let his nerves unfurl. Kuznetsov moved him from one activity to the next, keeping him too busy to worry about his confrontation with Nogura.

Eventually, the subject turned to work during lunch on their second day. He asked if she knew what Dragon was doing when the gates lifted and they could leave. “First, I’ll be replacing the people who’ve transferred, resigned, or been medically discharged. We were really close to Seren, paired up with them for the last three years. It was almost like we were one crew in a lot of ways. Clark, my security chief turned in his notice, he’s done forever. My second officer got a gig as an Admiral’s aide on Starbase 4. I swear, by the end of the month, all that’s left will be me, Cosgriff, and Abbott.”

“You’re not thinking about a transfer?” He asked.

“Where would I go?” She took a sip of the black tea she’d dissolved a heaping spoonful of currant jam into. “Unless Starfleet is commissioning more ships and turning them out at a rate of two a month for the next three years, we’ve got a glut of captaincy candidates waiting to get in on the lower rungs like Dragon.”

“What about an upgrade to something bigger? You’re good at flying the center seat. I’m surprised Command hasn’t made that move.”

“Jimmy, not all of us have your pedigree. I enlisted at sixteen, was a medical corpsman who ran into places people were fleeing so I could patch up wounded Marines, and have moved up from there. San Francisco isn’t going to give a girl from a nowhere village in Siberia an exploratory vessel. If I try to put in for something they consider above my calling, I’ll be lucky if I’m running a supply boat by this time next year.”

 _That’s not fair_ , he thought. But, he understood the fickle way these things worked. He’d seen many of his own Academy classmates languish on the promotional ladder when they were worthy of advancement. “I’m glad you’re sticking it out.”

“Someone’s got to teach the new batch of kids they send Dragon how to behave out on the Neutral Zone.” She smiled to herself before letting Kirk in on her private joke. “Melbek III was supposed to be our last milk run before we rotated back out to Romulan country.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“You should catch the view from my briefing room. The legendary starship Enterprise is right there for me to lust over.”

They smiled at one another because what else was there to do but grin and bear it as the idiocy from Command continued to cripple them.

  
  
  
Cranberry curls straightened so her hair could be elaborately styled and placed on top of her head, Zakhira Tay was elegantly dressed for some formal function. One corner of her mouth turned up slightly. “Sha’leyen, it’s not often we have the luxury of speaking.”

“T’Kehr, I need a confidential consultation with you.” Sha’leyen saw her old mentor’s husband in the background.

“Give me a moment. I will send Saff ahead without me.” She didn’t put the call on hold, and Sha’leyen got to observe the people who’d more or less become her foster parents on Vulcan continue to show what a real marriage was. They’d given her hope for her own future.

She remembered the first time she met her Teacher. Vulcan Space Central got warning from a Belonite freighter that a grievously wounded girl was being dropped off, no questions. Zakhira was initially brought in as an interpreter because Sha’leyen didn’t speak modern Golic and the intimate topics she and her medical practitioners had to talk about were not in the purview of translation software. It was the hair that initially got a traumatized teenager to open up to this stranger. Their first discussion was about how Zakhira spent the first ten years of her life being raised by her grandparents on Belon and why her Vulcan father and Belonite mother decided to retire from the shipping industry and moved the family to the much safer and saner homeworld.

“Saff sends his greetings, as do I.”

“Thank you, T’Kehr.” Sha’leyen decided they could catch up on family matters at the end and dove right into the reason for her call. “Is there a way to keep a mair-rigolauya from succumbing to the effects of ketro’nistin once they’ve been exposed?”

Momentarily dazed, Zakhira went on to say, “I do not know that the Lyr Saan have such a method or it would be known, especially to someone with your skill set. The place to look for that answer is Gol, and I doubt they bothered to develop an antidote. I will see what, if anything, I can find.”

Glad she wasn’t being asked why she needed the information, Sha’leyen took a second to think. “Can you tell me about the Demon Cubes? I need as much detail as possible.”

Zakhira’s expression darkened. Her voice became grim. “I will tell you all I know.”

  
  
  
Back home and feeling like his head was screwed on more straight, Kirk did exactly what Holt told him to do. Drills, workshops, competency building, and entertainment was what he oversaw for the crew. McCoy made him be sociable when he might otherwise have crept off to his quarters and cracked a book.

Five days after his confrontation with Nogura, Kirk found himself back in Rec Room 2, sort of looking forward to whatever insanity Captain Chaos had waiting. He hunkered down next to Bones and tucked into the bean and cheese burrito he’d nabbed from next door. “I noticed Chapel had the balls to show up. Is she a glutton for punishment or looking to make amends?”

“No idea, Jim. I think she’s mostly here to enjoy the scenery. It’s the only place where all three of our male Vulcan crewmembers congregate.”

“Well, she’s got some chutzpah, I’ll give her that.” _That’s it, we need more burritos, Kirk thought. Best damned thing to come out of the officers' mess in ages_. “Oh no, she’s not trying to set her sights on the Krampus, is she?”

“She can try, but Lt. David’s beaten her to the punch.” Bones pointed in the direction of the two young science officers sitting side-by-side, locked in a conversation to the exclusion of the rest of the universe. “And he’s got eyes for no one but Sarah.”

Kirk looked down at his Vulcan. Spock was up front again with Tralnor. _I’m right here, Spock _. . .__

Screens came to life. ShiKahr hosted Buster, Nola, and that character, Arnold. They continued to share a couch with Lynda the raincoat-clad blow-up doll. Sexpot Sohja, Kirk was in McCoy’s camp, he’d do her in a heartbeat, was on board a passenger ship headed to an undisclosed location. Hawaiian Shirt and Mollie were still in LA.

Something occurred to Kirk. Here he was, for weeks, obsessed with Spock’s sex life and he’d not acknowledged his friend’s whatever it was with this Sohja woman. Was that a failed relationship? Why had she not mattered and Mollie had? _Why am I such a dick_? _I don’t even know how many people I’ve slept with and I’m worried about his little black book_?

“We didn’t get very far the last time we tried this, and as such, we’re just finishing out the previous showing. I won’t keep you very long tonight.” Tralnor said as he kicked off the session. “In picking up somewhat where we left off, I’d like to start by addressing the most common question I’ve been asked since then. How were the yeht-vokayalar, genuine memories, of our lead players put into cinematic form?”

“I’ve been bugging him about that and the number for that lovely lady-friend of his and the bastard won’t tell me a thing.” McCoy muttered.

“Great rewards come to those who wait.” Kirk felt like he was back in Mrs. Worden’s third period English class, trying to both pay attention and goof off with his friends.

“Where’d you get that from, a second-hand fortune cookie?” Bones’ eyes twinkled.

Mischief in the air, the captain had to cover his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh too loud and interrupt the presentation.

“By now, everyone here knows I’ve got some in-depth psionic abilities. One of the things my father taught me was how to half-ass navigate through a computer just using my psi.” People nodded, everyone on the room alive because Justin MacCormack insisted on Tralnor learning meld into a machine. He talked about his father a little, discussing how a man who went to law school wound up never practicing law a day in his life because of his hobby of talking to computers. “He harped on me for a long time about how it was a useful skill to have. Who knew?

“The thing he taught me I’ve used most is the ability to implant memories onto hard drives, like you would take any photo, video, or voice file from one electronic device and transfer it to another. I won’t go into the specifics of how to use telepathy and telekinesis to create said files, mostly because it makes more sense to show you rather than verbally explain it. I don’t have the presentation my father gives that has the videos of his brain undergoing functional scans while he’s making a file that consists of his memory of the first time he met my mother.

“How it was used in this film begins with my ability to create and maintain a deep enough meld to work with my subject in a) finding the memory we’re looking for; b) wringing every detail about that experience out of the subject’s mind, including bits they’re not aware they remember; and c) tracing out the subject’s field of EM influence as pertaining to the memory itself.”

Kirk sort of followed the lecture, not really understanding what Tralnor was explaining other than when a visual memory became a visual file, it could then be edited like any other video file. Bones looked like he was desperate to take notes but had plans on cornering the music teacher later.

“Jim, the implications of being able to do something like this are, and I’m just thinking in terms of memory loss connected to traumatic brain injuries, innumerable. Why isn’t this phenomenon—” Bones went off on medical/science geek-out. “And if it’s visible on functional scans—”

  
  
  
With the Q and A about how Spock and Mollie’s childhoods made it into the film finished up, discussion of _Celluloid Vokaya_ was done for the day. Tralnor, ready to dismiss the film panel, stopped when Nola started to say something.

“You know, Buster and I haven’t been very good friends to you lately, Tralnor. We should have said thank you at the very start of this commentary stuff.” She looked a little sheepish. “I mean, if it hadn’t been for me and my big mouth, we’d all be doing this at the cushy screening rooms at USC Film School, or on some vacation cruise, not with you out there.”

“There is no need to apologize. It was my idea.” He remembered when it came out of his mouth. He’d been pissed at the trumpets’ section leader when she’d suggested, after an entire day of making her freshmen suffer, that the childishness was to continue on into the night in the form of a scavenger hunt. Tralnor, like the seventeen-year-old kid he was, mouthed off and said, _Fine, and while we’re at it, would you like us to bring you Zephram Cochran’s head as well_? Tired, cranky, smelling of booze and marshmallow cream, all he’d wanted after that horrid ride from LA to San Francisco was a shower and a quiet room where he could meditate.

“Nola and I were talking last night. I should have gone for your punishment assignment. Our engineering firm would survive without me for a little while, no problem. But you had to leave your little girl and honestly, we feel pretty shitty about that.” Buster put an arm around Nola, the first display of affection that suggested they were more than just old friends.

“It sure does make for a good story though, especially now that it’s out in the open and we no longer have to keep it to ourselves.” From his first day on the Enterprise until now, he’d had the time to think about what, if anything, he’d change about that night if given the chance to do it again. The only thing he could come up with was stopping to get something to eat on the way back to the hotel because the pizza they’d ordered later was inedible.

“The first time I was informed of your Weekender escapade and decapitation raid, I was sitting next to Marisol there at Gino’s in Chicago a couple of years later. She tried to tell me that you’d never do anything like that, Tralnor. You were some kind of virtuous angel, blah, blah, blah.” Joe smirked and shook his head.

“Rule Number One: Don’t Get Caught.” Tralnor said. “And it worked for nearly twenty years.”

“What about Two and Three?” Sohja asked. “Number Two: Deny Everything? People tend to take what Vulcans have to say at face value. If you said it was not you, the chances of being believed are in the range of ninety-six-point-two to ninety-eight-point-six percent.”

“By the time Starfleet showed up on my doorstep, they’d already run these two through the interview process, and no one was going to buy if it I invoked Rule Number Three. I do not look like my name ever was or could be Tony Fox.” That had been one hell of a morning, two Criminal Investigative Service agents from San Francisco pounding on his door like they were about to arrest some serial killer or something.

“ _Oh, for fuck’s sake_.” Joe said. He poked Mollie’s arm and pointed to something off camera. “Dealing with this guy is like being pecked to death by a duck. ‘Scuse me.”

Mollie pulled a face. “Whatever it is, Joe, please don’t argue with him.”

For those who didn’t recognize the voice, the exchange between two men meant less than nothing. For those in the know. . .

“Sir, I can assure you we’d have been downstairs in another twenty minutes, just like we said we would.”

“Traffic updates indicate that twenty minutes in addition to the time it takes to get into your vehicle and exit the building will put you behind. Thus you should leave early in order not to be tardy.”

“This is LA. People understand if you’re late. And short of a full-blown Sig Alert, there’s always a way to slowly get to where you’re going.” Joe, no matter how right he was, was not going to win this.

“Shut up, Joe.” Tralnor said.

“I was born here. I was raised here. I learned how to drive here. We could have left an hour ago to make sure we got there nice and early, and an airliner would have crashed into the 110 Freeway, and we’d still be late. It’s just one of the curses of living here.”

“Mr. Bergman, to suggest that the paranormal is an explanation for this city’s traffic patterns is not simply illogical, but leaves one wondering as to your general intelligence.”

“Shoot me.” Mollie said. “For the last three days, they’ve practically been inventing things to snipe about. They’re omnipresent because each of them thinks he’s got some sort of duty to keep me safe from the AVDL.”

“—inane human thought patterns—”

“—met more reasonably informed elephant dicks—”

“Honestly, I’d rather take my chances out there with nothing but a pointed stick.” She said. “Gotta go. See you next time.”

  
  
  
Kirk and McCoy were nearly purple by the time they got to sick bay. Howling, sputtering, choking on laughter, clenching their sides, they sounded like they were dying for what seemed like forever until they’d recovered enough to use their big kid words.

“I wish we could have seen his face.” McCoy wheezed. “Sarek of Vulcan versus Hollywood Hawaiian Shirt, I’d pay to watch that.”

“I’m not a big fan of living vicariously through others, but I’ll never have the chance to be so frank with that man, not if I want to keep my job. What I’d give to call him a dick, just once. . .”

“ _Elephant dick_!” McCoy bellowed.

In a rare occurrence, Jim Kirk went to sleep that night with nothing on but a smile.


	55. Chapter 55

The lads huddled around Seltun, fussing over the Vulcan like a mother might with a child on his first day of kindergarten. The Krampus was going on a date, something he’d never done before. Chris O’Dell and Vince Biltmore were the closest in build to him and had dragged out their civvies so he’d have something to wear that wasn’t a uniform or some overly formal set of robes.

“What about—No, bad color on you.” Chris held up a pinkish collarless button-down.

“I do not think I need to wear something different.” Seltun tried to protest.

“So very wrong there, Krampus.” Billy the Sixth clicked his tongue and shook his head at Seltun’s glaring lack of knowledge. “Sarah’s in her quarters right now, all those girls getting her fluffed and perfumed. If you meet her in nothing but your duty uniform and she’s made up like a Ten, you’re going to look unsure of yourself.”

“Red, bad. Makes you look like something from Santa’s Grotto.” Chris tossed another shirt to the side.

“Why do you believe that Sarah will not be wearing her duty uniform as well?”

The guys laughed, and Vince said, “She won’t be, just take our word for it.”

“Fancy shoes, dangling earrings, lipstick, you’re going to see something like you never have.” Chris pulled out one last shirt, dove grey, and threw it on the ironing board.

“Charcoal slacks.” Vince yanked something from his pile.

The door opened, revealing Dr. Tralnor. “Tonight’s the big night?”

“Shit, I lost a cufflink.” Chris said after he draped the shirt over the back of a chair. “Guys?”

“I’ll loan you mine.” Tralnor pulled out a drawer where he kept a small box with some personal items. He handed the miniature USC seals over to Chris.

“Belt or braces?” Vince wanted to know.

“He’s got a set of trout hips and not much of an ass. Gimme the braces.” Chris held out his hand. “Vince, anyone, tie? Something not too depressing.”

“All I’ve got is my old school tie. I don’t think anyone will recognize that it’s from some snotty boarding school in England.” Billy the Sixth slid down from his bunk and started digging.

“Sportcoat or suit jacket?” Vince held up one of each.

“Suit.” Billy replied.

“I got to agree with Six. Suit.” Chris continued to press the trousers.

“Suit.” Tralnor said.

Seltun needed help to get into the clothes properly. Tralnor got the honor of showing him how to make a Windsor knot. One last run of the lint roller and the young Lieutenant was date-worthy. The Krampus looked in the mirror, not recognizing himself.

“Oh, one more thing before you take off.” Chris reached into some little cranny and fished out a couple of condoms. “Just in case.”

“In case of what?” Seltun regarded the prophylactics with an expression of confusion.

Chris smiled, took the condoms and tucked them into the inside pocket on the jacket, and patted Seltun on the shoulder. “Because you’re too young to have a little Seltun running around.”

“Are you talking about intercourse?” He blushed, emerald all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Only when you’re ready, Seltun. Sarah will respect your wishes if you want to wait.” Tralnor said. “And she’ll do right by you when you decide that’s what you want.”

Still mortified, Seltun said, “You have spoken to her about this, T’Kehr?”

Tralnor didn’t go even the slightest bit green. “She had some questions about what it's like to be intimate with one of us. I also wanted to make sure that she knows you’re a virgin, so there aren’t any awkward misunderstandings later.”

“So when it happens, it’ll be good for both of you.” Chris said.

Seltun willed away the embarrassment. “I must go. Sarah and I are meeting in ten minutes. I do not want to be late.”

Tralnor followed Seltun, walking beside him. “One last thing that I didn’t want to discuss in front of everyone, but it's very important.”

“Yes, T’Kehr?” He braced for another potentially humiliating declaration.

“Have you been tested for Refraction Syndrome?” This was one of the details he’d talked to Sarah about, making her aware, so she wasn’t frightened if he did have it and suffered an episode.

“I do not know what this syndrome is.”

“It’s nothing bad.” Tralnor held out his hand, indicating the young man should take it. Bolus of important information transferred, they let go and continued to walk to the skybridge connecting Enterprise to Starbase 21.

Sarah was waiting, a couple of her friends along to see her off. Green dancing dress, heels, an antique bracelet, she smiled at the sight of Seltun in his borrowed getup. “You’re not here for a shotgun speech, are you, Dr. Tralnor?”

“Not at all. Just some last-minute bolstering.” He stood, hands behind his back. “Have a good time.”

Watching them depart, he was struck by a premonition that Tenor Sax Sarah and The Krampus had just taken the very first steps of their lives together.

  
  
  
“How are you doing, Avery?” Biltmore prodded his friend.

Alton looked up, dejected, and said, “I took my eye off the ball, Vince. I had tons of time to ask her out, and I never did. I think I was afraid she’d say no and I’d feel like a tool.”

“Never thought she’d go for a guy like Krampus.”

“If you say it’s because he’s an Academy grad, I’ll smack you.” Alton gave the slightest hint of a smile. “I’ve still got hope that she’ll let me be her Man of Honor at their wedding.”

“Fucking ring-bangers anyway.” Biltmore chuckled.

  
  
  
“Sit rep, Dr. T?” Rohit was the first to ask about the Krampus’ setting his sights on Sarah.

“I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.” Tralnor said. “And thank you for getting him into something appropriate. She was quite pleased to see him.”

“I didn’t fuck up, with the condoms, did I?” Chris had only done what he thought was right.

“No, its good for him to think about sex as something less abstract. Golic clans do their youth no favors with their prudishness.” Tralnor knew their squeamishness was not about the act itself. Sex was a biological process. It was the emotional/psychic intimacy rather than the physical relationship that frightened them. Bodies could breach one another with far fewer consequences than minds.

“They’re not going to, not tonight.” Billy the Sixth set his reading aside.

“No, they’re not.” Tralnor agreed.

Chris stuffed his hand back into his hiding spot and rooted out another handful of condoms. “I’m putting these in his drawer. He’ll be needing them.”

  
  
  
She tucked her uniform into the minuscule locker by the head of the bed and stepped out of her undergarments. The narrow mirror on the locker’s door gave her a view she seldom examined. She let a finger dance along the silvery line of a faded scar.

“Lt. Commander, I’m sorry.” Nurse Chapel tried to avert her eyes from the Frankensteinian jags and lines that covered Sha’leyen’s back.

She turned and faced Chapel, wanting the nurse to see everything, the burns, the elliptical bite scars, the crepe-papery stretch marks on the belly of a childless mother, deep fingernail furrows like swipes from the claws of wild animals instead of a man’s hands, the result of a fistula: a crater on her abdomen that was her healed over ostomy. . .

“Dr. McCoy told me you presented a complicated case of savagery.” Chapel’s voice was nearly a whisper. “That your records from Vulcan said you were hours from death when they got you and that they barely saved you.”

The nurse picked up and held out the patient gown, helping Sha’leyen to tie it properly. “Complicated savagery could almost be a proper medical term. It fits me well.”

Chapel started on vital signs, a final explanation of the anesthesia, a description of Sha’leyen’s planned surgical procedure, how long it should take, and a full run-down of what each doctor in the suite was in charge of. Sha’leyen signed the last of the consent forms and walked with the nurse down to the OR.

  
  
  
The catcalls began the second Sohja stepped off the shuttle and into the humid day in Campbell City, the system’s capital. Only when a person looked higher than her breasts and saw what she was did the real nature of Trego Delta come spewing to the surface. Someone tried to spit on her as she entered the lobby of the TriStar-Murker building.

“ _Get the fuck out of here you goblin cunt_!” An elegantly suited woman hissed and stepped off the lift car Sohja entered. Three other people exited, mumbling about the sudden stench and rise in temperature.

She rode up with a cleaner and his supply trolly. Each floor they stopped at, the doors opened, and people refused to climb in until she arrived at a suite of offices on the fifty-second floor.

“‘Ave a good day, Love.” The cleaner said.

“You as well, Sir.” She stepped out.

“Ain’t no one called me Sir in ages.” The doors closed on his craggy face, a smile where none had been in a very long time.

The receptionist at Preston Banks Clothiers, Ltd., balked at Sohja, biting her tongue and scowling where the Vulcan placed her hands on the counter. “What do you want?”

Sohja opened her UFP Employee ID wallet and slid it toward the hostile woman. “I am the Companies House Administrator assigned to the liquidation of Preston Banks’ cumulative hard assets before it is folded into MuniCorps.”

Standing to look at the ID rather than touch it, the receptionist stared at it, debating its authenticity. “My schedule says CHA Rudolph Cheng is supposed to be here, not a Vulcan.”

“Mr. Cheng’s previous assignment is running long, and I was dispatched instead.” She wouldn’t say that she’d asked around and gotten the Preston Banks/MuniCorps acquisition because she had ulterior motives for coming to Trego Delta. Cheng had been glad to offload the “thankless” job if only to avoid returning to the same sector where Trego was located. Taking back her ID, Sohja remained standing.

An intercom beeped. “ _Cammie, is that bastard from Companies House here yet_?”

“Yes, Mr. Craven. She’s here.”

“ _She_?”

“Sow-ha-ja t’Guh—I don’t know how to say it.” The receptionist took pride in mangling the name. “The meeting room is at the end of the second hall on the right as you’re going through the open plan area.”

Sohja turned to walk away and heard, “You look like a whore.”

No announcement, she walked straight into the room and popped her CV chit into the computer terminal at the front where it instantly appeared on a screen behind her. “I am Companies House Administrator Dr. Sohja t’Gef-zehl.” She pronounced it slowly, Sew-zhah ti-Geff-zel, so they might follow along with the projected heading on her paperwork. “You may call me Sohja.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Elliot Craven, CEO of Preston Banks, was not finding the humor in the situation. “Where the fuck is Cheng?”

COO, Meghan Whitlock, picked up a phone. “The only thing I’m calling you is a security escort.”

Mortified, the MuniCorps team, none of them local, started on damage control. They knew if the CHA walked, this deal could fall through, costing a lot of money.

“Oh, no, uh-uh.” Craven crossed his arms over his chest, resting his elbows on his beer gut. “Nope. Never done business with one of these holier-than-thou logic-lunatics and I’m sure as fuck not starting now.”

“Mr. Craven, if you’d take a glance at her CV? Southern Cal is one of the best business schools—” The MuniCorps team leader was cut off.

“You may be okay with one of them trying to screw you over, but I don’t swing that way.” Craven sneered. “You need us, our name, a hell of a lot more than we fucking need you.”

This was playing in Sohja’s favor. In talking to Rudolph Cheng, she learned about what a racist pig Elliot Craven was and decided then that her work was the perfect way to snoop around for Laura Hillyard. She was counting on Craven throwing such a fit that he’d have her ejected, giving her a decent block of time in which to conduct her search. MuniCorps would take it in the pants, but for all the posturing, Craven was in desperate need of a cash infusion just to get his personal finances in order. He’d cut off his nose to spite his face.

“If you have me removed from these proceedings, the penalties accrued—”

“Security, Sir?” A plain dressed man, concealed weapon bulging beneath his left shoulder, stepped into the room.

Craven pointed at Sohja. “Yeah. Get that pointy-eared bitch out of my boardroom.”

  
  
  
After a report back to her bosses in London, Sohja was dismissed from the case, and the merger officially blocked. Hundreds of millions of credits were squandered that day for what? Within the hour, Craven was calling the main office on earth, begging for a second chance. She sent the MuniCorp team a message thanking them for their decorum and told them losing Preston Banks was far preferable to absorbing Craven and his corporation’s toxic culture.

Now with three days to kill, Sohja sought out a Professor Goodwin at Trego Tech. It was hoped that the resident archaeological expert might offer some suggestion for where or what the tavalik duv-tor was housed in. The idea was to pose as an academic who’d come across some information about these Vulcan shadow boxes and wanted to know more. That gave her an in to search for the object and look for Hillyard.

Trego Tech’s campus was run-down like a lot on that planet. She got the idea that people simply didn’t have enough civic pride to give a damn. Her university experiences were full of exquisite groundskeeping, California mission-style architecture, and clean detritus-free walkways.

Dingy, floor tiles cracked, Eldorado Hall was home to a hodgepodge of social science disciplines including archaeology. Goodwin’s office was easy enough to find. Sohja could hear the woman muttering to herself and saw her repeatedly opening and closing a photo of a stone phallus.

“Dr. Goodwin?” Sohja knocked on the open door.

“Yes?” She beaconed her visitor to enter then made a squeaking noise when she saw a Vulcan and made herself swallow down a panic reaction. “Two of you in two days, I never would have imagined.”

“Two of?” Her work with humans showed Sohja that they often needed coaxing to cut through the bullshit and get to the point.

“He’s the first one I’ve ever met, a Vulcan, that is.” Goodwin pointed to her splotchy face. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to touch him. She taught me that.”

“I do not know whom you refer to.” Sohja took a data padd from her attache bag and turned it on, ready with Joe’s screenshots of Laura and Veddah.

“He was her slave. Wore a collar and everything. If he has a name, I didn’t hear it. He belongs to the Golden Girl.” Goodwin shuddered at something. “I doubt you know of her. She’s an icon in the AnthroVision Defense League. I’m sure you’ve met plenty of them since arriving in Campbell. I always used to think she was so pretty, but not anymore.”

“Does Golden Girl have a name?” Sohja, not in possession of any spectacular psionic abilities sensed a cataclysm within the professor, that she needed a mental health practitioner, traumatized by something recent.

“Raisa Pichushkin. I thought her name was pretty too, though I don’t think it’s really her name.”

One of Laura’s known aliases was Rose Littlebird, the Standard translation of the Russian name she’d given. “Is this her?”

Goodwin’s hands snapped up to her mouth. “Yes! And she’s a monster, nothing like the campaigns make you believe. The Golden Girl isn’t real.”

“Her companion?”

A new photo on the screen, the professor tapped on the image. “One of my students came in when I was talking to them. He recognized her and touched her. That’s when the slave hurled himself at my student and flung him out the door. I think he said if Mike came near her again that he’d kill him.”

Unfortunately, Vulcans weren’t entirely impervious to brainwashing or the detrimental effects of torture. Laura could have Veddah doing her bidding simply as a sadistic exercise in controlling one of her perceived enemies. He might follow her commands as the only effective means he had to stay off the Path of Dying. It was impossible to know right then.

“Are you looking for them?” Goodwin was actively breaking from reality.

“I am.” There was no need to trot out the visiting academic guise.

“Then you’ll want to know what they stole from the university’s collections.”


	56. Chapter 56

Straight from theatre to his dictations, McCoy was pleased with the initial outcome of Sha’leyen’s surgery. The urogynecologist he’d brought over from Starbase 21 said she’d never seen such brutality committed against a living person, and it was nothing she wanted to see again. Commenting on the re-contouring of the Lt. Commander’s internal anatomy, he was interrupted by the tortured screams of a terrified child.

He ran for post-op and pulled back a curtain to find Chapel and Patel trying to restrain Sha’leyen.

“Get it out of me!” Emerging from anesthesia, still half-drugged, scared senseless, reliving the violations against her by a war criminal, she tried to get her hands between her legs to remove the dilator. She shrieked and kicked at the women, catching Christine hard in the chest. “ _Get. It. Out_!”

“We need help in here!” The doctor shouted, grabbing for her hands, hoping she was still within her head enough to pick up the benevolence he tried to send her.

“My husband is going to kill me when he finds me with you.” She shook and gasped for air. “Please, get it out of me.”

Tears, pleading, total violation, she cried out from the depths of her soul. McCoy refused to let go of her fingers, crushing them in his own. _We’ve got you. We’re taking care of you. He can’t find you here_.

Sedatives on board, delivered by another member of staff, she looked into McCoy, eyes begging for help. “ _Why is it in me_?”

Addressing the girl she’d been, not the officer she was now, he said, “To keep your body from scarring closed.”

Something registered about her surroundings. “I’m not on Belon?”

“No. Nowhere near.”

Sha’leyen’s gaze fell on her flat stomach while a new wave of panic boiled through her. “What happened to my baby?”

  
  
  
“How many do we have taking us up on extended leave?” Kirk lobbed his data padd on the conference table and dragged a hand down his chin.

“Nine of my engineers, Sir. Some of them think they’re tired if you ken.” Scotty wasn’t coming down on his guys. They worked their asses off.

“Fifteen non-essential operations staff, five laboratory technicians, three computer archivists, and six security staff, Sir.” Spock listed.

“Thirty-eight who’re going to come back. Resignations?” Kirk knew there would be a handful, but nothing on the level Kuznetsov was dealing with. Hells like Melbek III destroyed people.

“Chief of Security, he was talking to me this morning. He’s just trying to figure out how to word his letter. Cash hanging herself like that. . .” Scott didn’t need to say more.

“If he asks, tell him I won’t refuse his request.” The captain’s gut ached. “Spock?”

“Two of the three geologists who went to the grave, an entomologist, two medical assistants, and two GIS technicians.”

“Transfers?” The numbers of people fleeing were almost depressing.

“Two engineers mates, the other three security people assigned to the surface during the dig, and a bored cartographer who’s only been here six weeks. All she’s done is whinge about how little exploring our exploratory vessel’s been doing.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Kirk replied.

“Two virologists whose project has wound down. There is also an astrophysicist who was just informed that her father is quite ill and I expect her to request a placement on Mars so she may be with him in his last days.”

He didn’t blame them, especially the young ones who wanted to save the fire in their bellies and the belief that the universe was an inherently good place. Kirk looked at the two men opposite him, glad they were willing to stay on when Christopher Pike was forced to relinquish command.

“ _Mr. Spock, report to sick bay_.” Christine Chapel’s voice went over the general PA.

“Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble. What did you do this time, Spock, skip breakfast for the fourth time in a row?” Scotty waggled a brow.

“ _Mr. Spock, report to sick bay_.”

He heard the screaming long before arriving in medical. Intense grief/loss/terror electrified the air, forcing the fine hairs on his body to stand.

“Oh thank heavens you’re here, Mr. Spock. We tried to find Dr. Tralnor and didn’t have any luck.” Nurse Chapel was on him the moment he entered. “It’s Lt. Commander Sha’leyen. She’s having a very bad reaction to the anesthesia she was given earlier.”

The sound of a human body thudding into a wall indicated something beyond a bad reaction to a medication. “Help me! Somebody help! Fa’rhon will kill me if he finds me here.”

Taken to the post-operative area, Spock stepped in to see Dr. McCoy trying to staunch the flow of blood where she’d hit him on the nose. Sha’leyen, uncontrolled by Nurse Patel and three other male staff, started on a frenzied dig to get below her waist. All six medical people yelled at her to stop.

Spock, the only one strong enough to handle her, the only one with the psionic abilities to get through to her, capably restrained her hands without creating injury. Their eyes met, and there was no recognition of her superior officer.

He sent a broad stroke of energy into her mind to wall off and smother the shrill surging panic before gently pushing her into unconsciousness. A tide of her agitated pain washed back on him, freeze frames of the excruciations she’d endured adhered to him like grains of sand on the soles of his feet. He lowered her to the pillows, let go of her, and turned to McCoy. “Once the medications work their way out of her system, she will return to normal, not remembering any of this.”

“Thank you, Spock.” The doctor’s voice was muffled from not being able to breathe through his nose. “We couldn’t get a fix on Dr. Tralnor. Chavez was being a turd, and it was faster to get you down here than try to deal with that asshole.”

“You are welcome, Doctor.” Spock saw Chapel in his peripheral vision and experienced a twinge of disgust at her bottomless desire to peel back the training and discipline that kept his emotions in check.

“You were very gentle with Lt. Commander Sha’leyen.” The nurse was back at him like a lion on a wildebeest.

He wanted to tell her to go away and do her job, but any form of engagement only ever seemed to encourage her infatuation. Then again, ignoring her could provoke the same response. Chapel was unbalanced, and that was saying something for a human.

“Can you imagine what it would be like to wake up like that? Thinking you’ve been raped and finding out your unborn child is dead?” She seemed stuck on the most gruesome details. Was she deriving some abhorrent pleasure from her patient’s suffering?

“I do not have to imagine, Nurse Chapel. I entered Sha’leyen’s mind and experienced her tragedy myself.” _And you want me much as the beast that put her into that bed_? “Dr. McCoy, please keep me apprised of the Lt. Commander’s condition.”

“Sure, Spock.”

“I am going to find Dr. Tralnor.” He took a step to get around an orderly only to find Chapel at his side. She purposely brushed his hand, driving a spike of sticky devotion straight into his mind. Ten months wasn’t soon enough to escape her. Shivs and arrows of disturbing emotion were common from this woman, a specialty of hers really. Four years and two months of her sexually motivated overtures was more than enough.

“Spock?” She grasped at him once more, trying to make it out to be a casual mistake.

He snatched his hand away. She’d had warnings, been asked cordially to stop, but this was his last resort. “Nurse Chapel, if you do not cease your unwanted physical advances, I will have no alternative to filing a disciplinary action against you.”

“But—” She yelped. “Why?”

By now they were out of sick bay proper and in the empty hallway that separated the operating theatres from the medical labs. “Spock, why am I not good enough for you? Do you not find me attractive?”

He was not going to dignify that with an answer.

“Is it because you don’t like blonds?” She touched her golden bouffant. “What if I dye my hair a darker color to look like Mollie’s?”

Throughout the mission, he’d given her rebukes, tried to ignore her, and been outright rude. Yet, she persisted like a resilient parasite. His mother had a saying about bad pennies, remarking that during and after the Babel incident that Nurse Chapel turned up everywhere and was on a never-ending quest to make a good impression on her.

“The color of your hair means nothing to me, Nurse Chapel.”

“You know I’d do anything for you.” Some filament of dumb, blind hope wound through her. “Tell me what you want, what you need, and I will be that for you.”

“I want you to leave me be.”

“ _What_?” She hacked.

“That is all I have ever wanted or needed from you, Nurse.” The sucking up, endless mooning and flirting, it was pathetic coming from a person at her age. He wished she’d taken the hint a year-and-a-half ago when he’d deliberately set her up to catch him with Mollie at Starbase 12. They’d been hanging on one another and kissing on the lips as they entered a hotel room where they were clearly going for the sole reason of having sex.

Now the tears. The number of times she’d cried in front of him was absurd. She hiccuped and wiped at her face. “I’ve tried to chase it, tried just as hard to deny it, _I love you_. I’m in love with you, Spock. There can be a beautiful future for us. All you have to do is trust me.”

“No, Nurse Chapel.”

“I know how to be a good wife.” She lifted her hand like she was going to stroke his arm. “I won’t leave you like T’Pring did. I will perform my spousal duty to you, Spock. It won’t be long now, you’ll require my presence, and I will be on hand. _I will save you_. I won’t let you die like that bitch wanted you to. Just because you don’t find me attractive now doesn’t mean your mind can’t be changed.”

She trailed a finger along his jaw. “ _You will love me_.”

“Never.” He said, expressing great restraint in not breaking her hand. “I would that I die from the madness than consummate a union with you.”

He brushed past her, leaving her to turn into a sobbing heap. What little concern and compassion he’d had for Chapel as a fellow member of Enterprise’s crew evaporated years before. He needed to find Tralnor.

  
  
  
Starbase 21 was home to an actual music store. Tralnor moved into the band and orchestra section toward the back of the shop. The sights, sounds, and odors of rosin, cork grease, and valve oil gave him a tremble of homesickness. A display wall had an array of wind and brass instruments for sale.

“May I help you, Lt. Commander?” An employee arrived at his side and tried hard not to stare at his ears.

“I need to playtest some trumpets.” Tralnor picked up the one closest to him, tested the valve action and slide movement. Then he pulled his favorite mouthpiece from his pocket.

“Help yourself. And so you know, Starfleet personnel get an automatic ten-percent discount.”

Mouthpiece slotted home, he placed the cool metal to his lips. He played a chromatic scale through a couple of times, then launched into the Third Movement of the _Hayden Trumpet Concerto_. It was far from his best performance, his chops flabby from lack of practice. He repeated the ritual four more times before narrowing the field of five horns down to two.

Another scale and a bit of _A Night in Tunisia_. . .

(Tralnor, you are needed back on the ship.) Spock’s voice cut through the music, so did his frustration with Lt. Chavez. The little twat had given Tralnor the day off then refused to tell anyone that’s what he’d done.

He lowered the trumpet and turned to his commanding officer. (Yes, of course.)

“Have you decided, Sir? We have purchase and rental plans.” The shop clerk, more curious about two Vulcans in his establishment, wasn’t all that interested in actually making the sale.

(Finish your transaction.) Spock said.

Tralnor paid for the trumpet he liked the best, wishing he’d been granted the allowance to bring more than one instrument with him to the Enterprise. Ultimately, he’d give this horn to one of his students who could not otherwise afford a decent trumpet of their own, so it was a win no matter what.

Spock explained what had happened and escorted Tralnor to the ship and straight to sick bay.

  
  
  
“Spock, what the fuck did you say to her?” Dr. McCoy beckoned to the first officer once Tralnor got settled in with Sha’leyen. “Chris is hysterical and going off about how you hate her guts.”

“I did not say I hate her.”

The doctor sighed. “Well, she’s locked in the staff bathroom, bellowing like a stuck pig.”

“Your nurse is intrusive, overly-sensitive, and deliberately obtuse. I ask that you endeavor to keep her away from me.”

“Okay, fine.” _Just what I fucking need right now, Spock and Chris at one another’s throats. Christ almighty people, can’t we just fucking get along for a little while longer_? “I’ll see what I can do.”


	57. Chapter 57

“I shit you not, Boss. This lawyer from New York City wants to talk to you.” Silvio shrugged then popped a breaded mushroom in his mouth.

Laura and Veddah met up with Silvio at a shitty cafe in the small town closest to the ruins of the most significant ancient city on Trego Delta. Was it worth it to divert the attention away from her hunt to listen to an ex-Enterprise officer’s sordid story? “Do we have any indication as to what, if anything, this guy’s client wants to tell me?”

“Nope. He did what lawyers always do, avoid the truth and slither away.”

“And he said it will be worth my time?”

“Yup.” Another mushroom gone.

“Nice of him to make a claim like that, but it’s not exactly got me clattering to know more. Tell him to piss off or come back with a sample that actually draws my interest.” She shoved her mostly untouched plate away.

“That’s what I thought you’d say, and that’s what I told him. He didn’t like that. So, we’ll see if we hear from him again.”

Under the table, Veddah took her hand.

“How’s Sweetness coming along?” She reassuringly squeezed him back and felt him trickle into her brain.

“Two days and we can get the fuck away from this swamp.” Silvio sounded relieved. “I was born and raised in this area. It’s a sweltering shithole. You might know this, Vulcan. What the fuck were you people doing here two thousand years ago? It’s hot, but it’s sure not a desert.”

Veddah cleared his throat. “Masu-es Flash, Hot and Muggy, as Trego Delta was called then, was a stopover point for the slave trade. It was also an agricultural world mostly used for growing cash crops like sugar.”

“Hasn’t changed much.” Silvio gobbled down the last of the mushrooms. “Slaves and crops, that’s about all this place is really good for. Well, I gotta go make sure the techs and mechanics aren’t fucking up our boat more than they’re fixing it. It’ll sit rep you in a couple of hours.”

(He was not openly hostile to me today.) Veddah said as Silvio left. He didn’t know if that change in attitude was an improvement or not.

(Don’t ever lose that suspicious streak, Adun.) She waved their waiter down to pay the tab.

“The manager says it's on the house. We don’t get a lot of celebrities around here.”

“No, I’m paying, like any other customer. I don’t deserve special treatment.” She produced a credit chit.

“Why not take advantage of being a hero?” The waiter wouldn’t take her money.

Laura laughed at that notion. “I’m no hero. What a ridiculous idea.”

“The Golden Girl is what we want to be like. You are a hero to thousands and thousands of people.” He cocked his head to the side like he knew better than she did. “Take the free lunch.”

“Listen you little shit. There’s no such thing as a free fucking lunch. You pay for everything in one way or another. If I accept your manager’s offer, I’m am still indebted to this establishment. You’ll want photos, autographs, my likeness to put into your advertising and word-of-mouth campaigns. I want no part of that.” She held the chit out to him. “Take the fucking money before I sic my pet on you.”

Cowering, the waiter swiped the chit through the portable pay-station he’d used to take their order. He looked at Veddah, afraid the Vulcan might attack without her order. “Have a nice afternoon.”

She rose and motioned for Veddah to join her. As they left the restaurant, a table full of sniggering young men flung a milkshake on her Vulcan. Laura boiled over. She snapped up a glass condiment bottle and started swinging.

  
  
  
Sha’leyen woke up to Tralnor holding her hand and Spock standing at the foot of her bed. She’d not expected to find two very concerned men hovering as she opened her eyes. “I survived the surgery didn’t I?”

“The medical staff almost didn’t. Something about the anesthesia pushed you into an extended flashback about your husband and the loss of your daughter.” Tralnor said. “You came out scared and fighting, clobbering some people pretty good by the sound of it.”

“I think I have an idea which part of the drug cocktail they used would cause a side-effect like that.” She realized her hands hurt, specifically her knuckles. A quick visual examination said yes, she’d been in a fight. There were bruises on her arms, overlapping old scars, where people tried to hold her down.

“I was called in to calm you. I had to enter your mind to do so.” Spock was disturbed by what he’d found in her head. “I apologize.”

“Then you—I am sorry you had to experience my pain in such a way.” She raised the head of the bed a little higher. “You can now fully understand why I was not in a place to help you two years ago. I want you to know I would have had I been able.”

Spock, looked down at the floor, ashamed.

“Spock, I do not want you to continue regretting that you tried to help yourself while in such a debilitated state. I wish that I could have kept you from the hell you went through.”

“I wish she could have helped you too.” Tralnor headed off the first officer’s further embarrassment at propositioning someone else’s bondmate.

“Knock-knock, folks.” Dr. McCoy stepped into the space and asked if she’d gotten up and done any walking. His voice was stuffy and part of his face swollen.

“I’m sorry about hitting you.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, planted her feet, and used the support Tralnor offered to push herself up.

Instead of the comment she anticipated, the doctor’s face darkened. “Has anyone been in yet to do a dressing check?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Sha’leyen sensed McCoy’s irritation that his staff may have neglected her even if it was out of fear she might physically lash out again.

“Sit down, and I’ll get some nurses in here.”

“What is—?” Her answer came in the form of a wash of green running down the insides of her legs.

  
  
  
When the police and ambulance arrived at the cafe to render aid to the three morons who’d targeted Veddah, Laura already had a call out to Dan. Cops refused to arrest her outright given who she was, but they wanted her to stick around. She and Veddah spent the rest of the afternoon locked in an interrogation room down at the local nick.

“Captain Pichushkin, it’s been too long since we’ve seen one another in person.” Shelley wasn’t even angry at her for causing such a scene. “Let’s get you and your toy out of here.”

In the back of Shelley’s chauffeured limousine, he engaged all the privacy features. “Really, Laura, you are nothing but piss and vinegar some days.”

“They vandalized my property.” She said.

“I’m going to have to pay off their families. You did some real damage.” He got off on the violence she doled out too much to express any disappointment in her behavior.

“Let it be a lesson to anyone who tries to mar my personal possession again. Even the Golden Girl is allowed to protect what is hers.” She didn’t care if she turned all three of those bastards into organ donors. “It wasn’t going to stop with throwing food. They wanted to escalate it into a public execution.”

AVDL’s leader looked at the Vulcan, revulsion in his eyes. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“I know how people like that tick, Dan.” She wasn’t going to try to tell him that she’d had something like a split-second premonition of Veddah’s beaten body strung up in the city park.

“Fine. Maybe we’ll start a campaign about not molesting other people’s stuff.” He touched her knee. “Anything to keep the Golden Girl happy.”

Fingers twisted back, pain escaping his lips, Laura wrenched that hand off her. “ _Don’t ever touch me again, Dan_.”

“Fuck, I won’t.” He reached into a refrigeration unit built into his seat and wrapped some ice cubes in his handkerchief. “Why are you down on the surface instead of with your ship? You know how risky it is to be out and about like this, even here on Trego. I started hearing rumors about you and your toy immediately after you set down.”

“I’m looking for something.”

Ice soothing his swelling knuckles, Shelley replied, “Give me a hint. I can help you.”

“No, Dan, this is something I’ve got to take care of on my own.” Out the window, the gateway to the ruins approached. “Stop the car.”

“Why?”

“I am taking my pet for a walk.”

“Come back to the house. We’ll have a good time. You haven’t been up there since before—”

“I slaughtered Arik Collier. I know. And, I’d like to keep it that way.”

Shelley made a questioning look and sent the stop request to the driver. As the car pulled over, he asked, “Why did you do it? Kill Arik, I mean?”

He’d never asked, said he didn’t want to know, what changed after five years? She’d tell him, not that she cared if he knew, not that he’d suddenly turn her in to the authorities. He’d orchestrated her jailbreak. If he said anything to the coppers, he’d spend time in prison too.

“I don’t have a high school diploma. I never sat the GED or GCSEs. I never went to university.” She said.

“So? Big fucking deal. Who needs school when you’re as intelligent as you are? I’ve seen you take IQ tests for fun and max out the scores. I’ve worked with you on things and seen that you’re a hell of a lot fucking smarter than many of the so-called experts.” He set his impromptu ice pack in an empty champagne bucket.

“Arik wanted me to be the Golden Girl, as seen in the posters, gorgeous and silent. I was an ornamental human to him, a stepping stone into the upper echelon of AVDL high society. He never stopped reminding me that I was nothing more than a high school dropout and that he had a double Masters and a Ph.D. He’d destroy my research, clear my workshop of everything I was developing and send it to the incinerator, hide my computers, shred my notes, anything he could to trip me up and keep me from any kind of academic-style achievement.” She’d only been with Arik for a little over twelve months, and he’d set her back years on her work.

“You could have said something. We’d have taken care of the smarmy prick, and you wouldn’t be roving around in Sweetness with a target on your back.” The Big Boss did not like what he heard.

“I got myself into that situation, and I could get myself out.” She’d not wanted anyone else involved. Arik was her albatross. “The night I killed him, I’d come home from an organizational meeting for the Annual Convention to find him out behind the house throwing my books in a burn barrel. It was an ugly confrontation, and words became physical blows almost immediately. I gave as good as I got for a lot of it until he started beating me with the metal rod he’d used to stoke the fire. I woke up who knows how many hours later, face down in the grass, soaked to the bone from a rainstorm that had come through.

“I got back into the house and discovered he’d thrown every single book I owned on the flames. He cleared out my workshop, removed everything, it was an empty room. He’d burned all my papers, the only photo I had of my mother, the more I looked, the more he’d tried to gut me. I was left with nothing but my clothes and toiletries.

“I broke into his home office, the last place in the house where there was a working computer or comm. When I hacked into his message accounts, I got to read what he had planned for me. He’d sourced an illegally modified knock-off Sentinel that was supposed to turn me into the mannequin he’d wanted the whole time he’d known me. I’d merely become his key to AVDL’s inner circle. What he didn’t know about that modification, because he was a dumb piece of shit, is that it very quickly scrambles the wearer’s brain. Two weeks of that thing against my skull, I’d have turned into a vegetable, which is worse than being dead.

“I went to the kitchen and helped myself the knife block. I was going to kill him before he killed me.”

  
  
  
Given an epidural, Sha’leyen was back in surgery to revise the damage she’d done while struggling against her past and the sick bay staff. Awake, she had Tralnor to hold onto her hand. Scrubbed in, she couldn’t see his face, but she felt the love that radiated from his eyes.

(You don’t have to do this for me.) He said as a used instrument clattered onto a tray. McCoy asked for something else and a sponge.

(It’s not for you, Tralnor.) She took a slow calming breath as the pressure inside her increased. (It’s for us, so there can be an us in the full sense of the word.)

He pulled her hand to his masked mouth and kissed her fingers before resting them against his forehead.

Christine Chapel glared at Tralnor’s unorthodox display of affection until the doctor shouted at her to pay attention.

  
  
  
Kirk tried not to wince at the sound of Mollie’s name. She’d secured the law enforcement files, and he needed to be grateful. He also accepted everything from this Deputy Chief Constable Mick Howard at Vitell’s Star. “Spock, you know how to make my day.”

“Is there anything else you need, Captain?”

He didn’t look at the first officer. His one stab at friendliness slapped down, he didn’t have anything else to say. “I’ll comm you if I do.”

And the Vulcan was gone.


	58. Chapter 58

“All locations I have scouted have proven incompatible with this project.” Sohja lay on a sun-lounger, metallic blue bikini showing off her material assets. “I have one more place to look at, but it shows little promise.”

“That’s too bad.” Joe said, turning to Mollie and shaking his head.

 _Shit_ , she mouthed. _Nothing_?

 _Nothing_. “What’s this last place? Is it anything like what we talked about?”

“It is ruins, but nothing like the old Roman Forum, which is what I know you were after. By the descriptions I have come across, these are all ground-level.”

“So we’d be better off building our own out of cardboard and plaster on a soundstage.” He nodded along.

“Precisely.”

“Thanks, Soazh. Keep us up-to-date.”

“My name is Sohja.”

Every time he called her that, guaranteed, she’d get defensive. Call her Tinkerbell, she’d respond like that’s what her mother put on her birth record. Any variation on her given name? Joe grinned and said, “ _I love you too_.”

“Less than a ten-percent chance.” Mollie said after Joe signed off. “Not that I’m shocked it’s not there, it just would have been nice to find it is all.”

“Yeah. When can we update the others?”

Mollie consulted the time. “They should all be off duty in about ninety minutes.”

“Nice. I’ll stick around for that.”

“You don’t have to.” She didn’t know who was showing up to take the next guard shift in an hour. “Not when you’ve got to be back here for the commentary session later.”

“I promise I will shut my mouth and sit on my hands if Sarek comes over. It’s not even that we dislike each other. We’re just worried is all.” Joe slipped his phone into a pocket. “And we’re dudes. . . It's like we’re preprogrammed to be competitive jackasses. I’m sorry.”

“Haliday System or Pezig’s Gate?” Mollie asked about the remaining possible locations for the tavalik duv-tor and silently accepted Joe’s offer of a peace treaty.

“Flip a coin?”

The room phone started ringing. Mollie looked at it, knowing anyone with a legitimate reason to contact her would use her private line, office at the university, or her home. After five rings, it stopped. A fifteen-second break and it started spouting off again. The pattern repeated three more times until she told Joe to answer.

He hit the speaker function and the room filled with the ear-splitting sound of microphone feedback and a distorted voice. “ _Death_! _Death to those who betray the natural order_!”

“Isn’t that cute?” She uttered.

Joe hung up, and the ringing renewed its teeth-grating jangle.

  
  
  
“Did you look at everything, Admiral Holt?” Kirk felt like an animal getting ready to gnaw its own leg off to escape from a trap. Maybe this would help tip the scales back in his favor, setting Enterprise free to vanquish a true-to-life monster.

“I did.” She wasn’t as enthusiastic as he’d hoped. “I sent it to Command.”

“Did it loosen the rust in San Francisco?”

“Nogura’s dispatched USS Storm King to follow up. Captain Engle is on his way to Vitell’s Star right now.” She held her hands up in protest to whatever irritation and expletive-ladened rant Kirk reacted with.

“This is so fucking wrong.” He didn’t need to tell her that.

“Stay put.” Holt demanded.

“Do you know how many transfer requests I’m looking at right now? Each day we sit around, the number gets higher. The longer we’re trapped here at Starbase 21, the more poisonous this ship becomes.”

“Ride it out. That’s the only thing I can tell you.” Her eyes fixed on something not in the vicinity of the comm screen.

“Miranda, please.” He invoked her given name out of desperation. “Engle is a good guy, but he doesn’t know what he’s flying into. This could be Seren all over again.”

“Do you honestly think I don’t fucking know that, Jim? That I didn’t go to the mat with Nogura? We both know all he’s doing is sending more Starfleet personnel to the slaughter. Storm King is strictly a reconnaissance boat, doesn’t have half the firepower Seren had, and her crew are almost exclusively Military Intelligence geeks. They don’t have the experience against hostile ships to be able to save themselves. Yes, this is a job for you, for Enterprise, but until the word comes down from above, you aren’t going anywhere.” She blinked heavily and stared him down. “If you leave that berth without the direct order from Command, you’ll be lucky if Starfleet will still let you scrub their toilets at HQ. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Conversation over, glad he was in his quarters, he busted out some of Scotty’s moonshine. “To Admiral Nogura, may you smother beneath your armor of jealousy and self-importance.”

  
  
  
“Jim, have you been drinking?” McCoy’s radar picked up on the captain’s affect.

“I’m not on duty today. We’re not going anywhere or doing anything. I indulged a little, and that’s all I’m going to say.” Bordering on broken, Jim forced himself not to slump. “Leave me alone and let me finish my book.”

“What did she say?”

“I’ve got a BAC of .05 at 1420 in the afternoon, what do you think she said, Bones?” He’d stayed holed up in his quarters, not letting anyone know he was awake or even alive until McCoy barged in on him.

“Say we don’t go after Hillyard right now. Can we at least talk Command into sending us out on a milk run? There has got to be a smarmy ambassador that needs ferrying to meet with some other smarmy ambassadors, right?” He got the captain a glass of water and held it right under Kirk’s nose.

Water half choked down, Kirk said, “Holt tried to lobby for that too. They’re not budging.”

“ _Genius_. We could probably have had this woman behind bars by now, but they want to play around. How many more bodies are there now? Do we start making room in the morgue?” McCoy stood, inspiration popping him into go mode. “I just came up with an idea. Don’t know if it stands a snowball’s chance on Vulcan of succeeding, but it’s worth a try.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“Starfleet Medical pays attention to things like crew attrition rates in the aftermath of disasters. They want to establish an official protocol of minimum actions to be undertaken by the command staff after a Melbek III happens. Not included in those actions: shutting a ship away and keeping the crew separated from their identities as ‘Fleet personnel. Right now, none of us are operating as we should. At least babysitting diplomats is within our official duties.”

“You’re going to try to get Enterprise a sick note?” Kirk chugged the rest of the water.

“I’m going to try my damnedest. There are scores of studies about the increase of depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues in groups of people who are made redundant, from Yorkshire coal miners in the 1980s to the scientists blocked from their professions by the Post-Eugenics Wars Laws, the breakers who worked the yard at Europa who were replaced entirely by machines five years ago, and even soldiers when there is no longer a war to fight.” The doctor refilled the glass, allowing Kirk to sip at this second one. “And the only things that seem to break these people out of these low states is a reinstatement of their identity, as in going back to what they are known as, or building a new identity. Miners become computer programmers. Or in our case, idle sailors become a diplomatic escort.”

The captain gave McCoy’s suggestion some thought. “What have we got to lose? If this is our get out of jail free card, we might get out there in time to save the USS Storm King from becoming the next notch on Hillyard’s tally.”

  
  
  
The shipping crate was a tighter squeeze for the return trip. Laura and Veddah had to share the space with some of the items they’d liberated from Trego Tech’s archives. Anything that couldn’t go through a commercial security check, including themselves, went with them. Damian Mazzi, Silvio’s younger, dumber brother was fighting with the big crate’s lid.

“I need a minute before you seal that up.” Daniel Shelley had come to the cargo hanger. To say goodbye? Damian shooed away for a little bit, the Big Boss arrived bearing gifts. He handed Laura a cigar box and told her not to open it until she got back to MV Sweetness.

“What’s up, Dan?” Tired, disappointed that days on Trego Delta, torrents of sweat pouring down the crack of her ass and stinging her eyes, had netted her nothing more interesting than a big stone dick. She had no desire to deal with Shelley.

“They were looking to rally a lynch mob.” He said as he leaned over and looked in the crate. “Two of the three little assholes you beat into unconsciousness are awake and talking. They got an eyeful of your hideous living sex doll and made their plans right there in the restaurant.”

“You look like you’ve just seen your dog get hit by a car.” She wondered what about this news merited a personal visit.

“ _You’re uncanny_.” A flicker of fear glinted across his face. “This is far from the first time you’ve called something where I’ve thought you were over-aggrandizing or just full of shit, but you’ve proven me wrong, again. Sometimes, I can’t help but think you need to get screened for psi abilities. I’m sure you’d come out with a rating.”

She smirked. “Done it a couple of times. And if the Vulcans test you and tell you that you’re not a psion, take my word for it, they’re actually right about something.”

Tension whipped across the bond and Veddah tried hard to drag it back. In light of this revelation, questions lit up his brain.

“And if I got tested tomorrow and it turned out that by freak chance the Vulcans were somehow wrong, twice, and I was a psion? How fast would I hit the skids?”

“You underestimate how important you are to the movement.” Shelley stated.

“Dan, are you saying you’d let me stay?” Laura narrowed her eyes at him. _You're a fucking hypocrite_!

He leaned in a bit closer. “Of course you’d stay. AVDL needs you, to hell if you can get a whole deck of Zenner cards right. The Golden Girl is not going anywhere.”

Shelley looked like he was waiting to hear some kind of ass kissing platitude of endless thanks that he’d show her mercy in such a situation. Any rank and file member diagnosed as a psion was summarily stripped of their membership and excommunicated. She’d overseen some of those dismissals. Why was she so valuable that he’d overlook the morals and tenets the AVDL was founded on?

“Can you help fuck-nuts over there get the lid on this thing so I can get back to my ship?” The Big Boss complied and the environmental controls kicked on before the last of the latches was secured.

(Are you certain you were tested?) Veddah asked when he determined it safe for them to converse.

(Yes.) The psi screenings, along with the academic placement exams, were about the only times she’d set foot in ShiKahr’s primary educational institutions. (It was computer-based, like everything else. I answered the questions, and because it scores itself along the way, I knew right after I finished the last exercise that I didn’t have any extra-sensory abilities.)

(You did not meet with and undergo a light meld with a Master?)

(Nope. I was never scheduled to see one. I flunked the written, so there was no point in one of the Masters wasting their time on someone who wasn’t going to be admitted into the school system.)

(Vulcans work to control and refine our telepathic skills from the time we are toddlers. I have heard that over half of human psions do not come into their abilities until the beginning of puberty and that those traits do not manifest all at once. Rather, such talents grow into their late teens and early twenties.) He wove his fingers into hers. (That means a test meant to gauge people who have had years more experience and training is not a fair evaluation tool for someone like you.)

(What are you getting at, someone like me? Is this conversation not just the result of my getting used to the bond? You’re the psion, I’m just riding your coattails.)

The crate rocked as it was moved onto an anti-grav pallet jack. She and Veddah paused their exchange and focused on bracing themselves against the jostling.

  
  
  
_Squeeeennnk-squeeeennnk-p’hick_. Mollie thought, _Not quite there yet_. She put the reed back on the mandrel and continued on the exacting task of shaping the cane to the right contours and thickness. This was her least favorite part of playing double-reed instruments. Where a clarinet or saxophone player could hop on the computer and place an order or pop into a music shop and pick up and an entire box of mass-manufactured reeds and expect most of them to play reasonably well, for oboe, English horn, and bassoon, reeds didn’t cooperate that way.

 _Squeeeennnk_! Nope, still a smidgen flat. Returned to the mandrel, another less than hair’s thickness of cane scraped away. _Squeeeennnk_.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Mollie.” Joe wrinkled his face in regret the second he said it. Too long cooped up was taking its toll.

“Invent a machine that can make a double reed that’s playable and in-tune, and I won’t have to torture me doing this either.” Scrape. _Squeeeennnk_. She forced air through it, turning in his direction so he could suffer the full brunt of the soprano squawking. “This beats the phone ringing, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t unplug a reed from the wall or otherwise power it down.” Joe gritted his teeth at the noise. “Why not play clarinet?”

“Because they make a wet squelching sound that I despise. I don’t have the energy to deal with the cutthroat backstabbing that goes on in flute sections, besides which there are a billion flutists out there, and the competition for jobs is savage. Double-reeds are much mellower people on the whole, and there are a lot of openings, relatively speaking.” She took the hopefully finished reed and slid it into the receiver on her oboe. After a few scales and some noodling around, she declared the reed done to her satisfaction.

“I could never play an instrument where I can’t just use a mouthpiece.” Trombone, baritone horn, and euphonium were his specialties.

“Are you still in that jazz combo?”

“We don’t need an English horn or an oboe right now, but thanks for offering.” He teased. “Yeah, we’re supposed to have a gig this Thursday. I also signed up to audition for the Angel’s Flight Orchestra. It’s a new big band that’s supposed to start rehearsing this fall. Are you doing Hollywood Bowl Orchestra again this summer? As usual, I’ve got season tickets and would love to see you up there on stage.”

“I haven’t decided—”

They both fell silent as they heard someone attempting to disengage the hotel room’s lock. Mollie had her reed knife, its razor-sharp edge just as good at slicing flesh as scraping cane. She dropped between the bed and the air conditioning unit under the window. Joe crept back there with her.

The lock and doorknob juttered. Mollie opened her mind, pressing her consciousness at the would-be intruder.

(Three of them. AVDL enforcers.) She told Joe, who clutched at the bedspread, spooked by the sudden telepathic contact. (Two men and a woman.)

Joe recovered quickly then crab-walked behind her, took the lamp from the end table, and pulled off the shade. It wasn’t the most wieldy cosh, but it would do.

(They’re here to kidnap me and kill you.)

“ _Let them_ fucking _try_.” He whispered.


	59. Chapter 59

Dressed as housekeepers, the intruders entered Mollie’s room as silently as possible once they fully disabled the lock. All three failed to come close enough to see the hidden occupants.

“I thought Tonya told you they were here.” One of the men whined while the other two started tearing through Mollie’s personal items. Drawers opened, papers fluttered to the floor, and the metal hangars on the closet rod ting-ed as they hit against one another.

“That’s what she said. She checked all the security feeds right before we came up. The alien bitch hasn’t gone anywhere.” The woman replied and unfurled a length of duct tape from a roll she’d brought along. “Kill the guy. Find her, catch her, I’ll tape her so she doesn’t scream, we get the fuck out of here.”

The men’s heavy footsteps picked up as one checked the seating area and his friend started tossing things around in the bathroom. Through the gap between the floor and the boxspring, Mollie watched as a male in athletic shoes came around the foot of the bed.

 _Taking people out in small spaces, this is what T’Lal and Sarek have been training us for_. Mollie clenched the rounded handle of her knife tight in her hand, dug the burred scraping edge deep into his shin and dragged the wicked little blade through skin and muscle, slicing into the tibia. He started screeching in shock/pain, and she took another swipe, de-fleshing part of the opposite calf.

“Logan!” The woman, tape discarded, pistol drawn, rushed to her co-conspirator’s side and leaned over to assess his wounds.

Mollie leapt onto the woman’s back, got her left arm around the kidnapper’s neck and set the non-cutting edge of the honed steel against her throat. (Drop the gun and don’t make a fucking sound. You got that?)

She nodded, set the gun on the floor where it got shoved under the bed, and let Mollie stand her up.

Man number two burst from the bathroom into the main area, leveled his energy weapon, and took a pot shot at Mollie, setting off a smoldering depression in the wall. The female tried to scream, but the way the reed knife contoured to her throat, cutting burr faced in, the expansion of her neck made the blade bite.

“ _Let her go you emotionless cunt_.” He aimed his gun, thinking he had a good lock on Mollie’s head.

Appearing stoic, Mollie balled up her fully penetrated fright and horror and did something that as a child she’d been taught to never do. For a brief, terrifying moment, she became that Lyr Saan night terror of legend and ferociously thrust her emotions into the mind of another person.

Four adults screaming. The cut up man on the floor, Joe as he swung the lamp base at the telepathically violated gunner who yelled out and wantonly pulled the trigger, and the woman whose blood trickled down the arm Mollie used to restrain her.

Five distorted seconds dragged by, and the door leading to the hall imploded, flying frame-and-all at least a meter and a half into the entryway. Sarek rushed in, ready for a fight, followed by T’Lal, who was armed with the T’Kehr’s ceremonial dagger that she almost always kept on her.

“ _Let go of the knife, Mallia_.” Sarek instructed.

  
  
  
Rec Room 2 bustled with a mass desire for escapism. The first task Tralnor had to attend to was a dull meeting of all of USC Marching Band’s associate and assistant directors. Some, like Tralnor, were professional musicians/music educators. Others, like Andrea Capstone, were people who did this on the side and had distinct full-time careers. Andrea arrived still wearing her Realtor getup. When she wasn’t hawking commercial properties for redevelopment, she directed the volleyball bands.

“Here’s a sight for sore eyes.” Capstone pointed at Tralnor’s screen and sank into one of the massive cardinal and gold sofas in the lounge. “You’re all off exploring strange new worlds, and we’re up to the same old grind.”

“Trade you.” Tralnor said. He continued to walk around and get ready for the next _Celluloid Vokaya_ session that was right on the heels of this short conference.

“Not on your life. Ships aren’t my bag.” She leaned over and said something to Pete Reynolds, one of the percussion directors, before turning back. “Aren’t you supposed to be on sabbatical right now?”

Tralnor did not enjoy small talk like this but had learned to suffer through it. “Hypothetically.”

The meeting officially began and was spent discussing the school’s new purchase order and reimbursement policies. The reimbursement part was essential to the band because the nature of musical instruments meant a lot of last-second emergency purchases went down just to keep things in playing order. There was rarely the time to allow for the tracking down or procurement of university accounts and petty cash. The professional staff often purchased items and repairs outright with their own money to be paid back later.

“A quick question about summer gigs, Dr. Tralnor.” The senior-most associate director began. “After you’ve figured out who you want covering what in the concert ensemble for your Summer Splendor event, did you want the full band, or as much of the full band as we can get, as backing? Vonna wasn’t very clear on that.”

Tralnor wasn’t sure either, but when it came to the Trojan Marching Band, the more, the merrier. “Full band. I’ll take care of the hotel and meals if you can handle the transportation.”

As the meeting broke up and he was ready to hit the switch to bring _Celluloid Vokaya_ live, Hannah Glenn, women’s basketball band director, approached. “I thought you’d be interested to know that T’Roah is still on campus despite her suspension from the program.”

That behavior smacked of denial on T’Roah’s part. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be in touch with Public Safety and the Dean of Music.”

Signed off from that tedium, he set up his sub-divided screen. ShiKahr called in right away. Buster and Arnold were positioning the couch when the gym door opened. The sound of a couple of laughing women gave this session some promise.

“Lynda is here. You have no idea how happy that makes me.” The new female to the group, Maeve Cody, had a vocal affect that set her out as a SoCal girl born and bred. There was a fry in her tone, and certain vowels and syllables exaggerated the gritty sound. In camera range, she was a tall, bottle blond, and wearing a starship captain’s uniform. The gold tunic gave her hair some brassy undertones.

“You guys, you didn’t tell me that—” She hopped and clapped at the same time, then closed in on the camera. “Holy balls. Mr. Lucky Drawers, I never would have imagined you’d participate in this. Wow, how long has it been since we’ve seen each other and not just shooting short notes back and forth? Like just about eight years. How the hell are you?”

“I am well.” The first officer was worse at small talk than Tralnor and wanted this to be over with. “What is your current condition, Buffalo Bill?”

“Four-and-a-half years at the head of USS Wild West Show, I mean, Callisto, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” She waved at someone. “Jimmy Kirk, is that you back there?”

Captain Kirk, not enthused about being called out, acknowledged Captain Cody. “The same. It’s been a while. You look great.”

“You’re going to make me blush.” Hands went to her hips, “Now, just so you know, your first officer is a friend of mine, so you be good to him, or I will try to poach him. The Wild West Show would love to have a scientist of Spock’s calibre on our side.”

“You don’t have to worry, Billie.” Kirk said.

Sohja called in from some tropical poolside, emerald green string bikini clinging to her natural curves. “Buffalo Bill Cody, what are you doing on Vulcan?”

“Funny story that. All I’m at liberty to say that it involves metal fatigue on our warp nacelles and that we had to stop drill the cracks to barely limp us to a place big enough to handle the problem. I’d gotten the message a few weeks back about movie alumni meeting here, and like, now I’m here.”

Not far behind Sohja, two leering men tripped over one another and fell into the pool. She was so used to that kind of bad behavior that she paid them no mind.

“Still know how to knock ‘em dead, Tinkerbell.” Cody laughed. “Or in this case make them drown themselves. Some men are such dogs.”

That set Arnold off on a tangent about humans analogizing themselves to animals and how the outcomes of those comparisons could only lead to more animal-like behavior. “If one assumes they are only held to the level of moral action as seen in pack animals like canids, and those people around them expect only that, ethical behavior decreases on the whole.”

“ _Oh, Arnold_.” Cody joined him on the couch. “ _I’ve missed you so much_.”

Tralnor paged Joe and sent a separate heads-up to Mollie. They should have called in and set up their link by now.

Nola got settled and started shaking her head. “Heavens to Betsy, Sohja. What the heck are you doing lounging in a cabana somewhere that’s not here?”

“I am picking up a side-gig as a location scout for one of Joe’s upcoming films. He knew Companies House was sending me here and asked that I look at some places that intrigued him.” She sipped some kind of technicolor cocktail.

“Have you heard from Joe today?” Tralnor sent another summons.

“I have not.” Sohja set her drink down.

“Let’s give them a few extra minutes.” Tralnor liked to think there were technical issues in LA and that once the malfunction was sorted Joe and Mollie would show up, and they could move on.

At fifteen after the hour and fed up with inane chat, Tralnor sounded the alarm to Spock. (I can’t raise either of them, including dialing into the hotel’s system.)

(Perhaps there is a simple explanation?)

(That would be nice, but I don’t think we’re going to be that fortunate.) He switched tactics. (Sarek and T’Lal aren’t picking up either.)

Spock switched places with Tralnor to see if he could find or override any issues on Enterprise’s end. Just seated, hands held above the keys, Spock was ready to begin when Tralnor’s civilian-issue comm let out a piercing series of beeps.

“Where the hell is Joe?” Buster asked. “He’s usually the first one dialed in.”

Cody followed. “He can be a bastard, but it’s not like him to flake out on something important, especially this project.”

Tralnor got his phone to shut up and read the dreadful sort of message that came with those shrieky noises. “USC campus-wide alert. A general evacuation order has been issued after the confirmed bombing at the Department of Mathematics—”

“Quick, Buster, turn on the news.” Nola reached behind the couch, grabbed a data padd, and gave it to her husband.

“Hey, Tralnor, isn’t your sister in the Math Department?” Cody tensed up like she was getting ready to tell her crew to fire on a shipload of rowdy Klingons.

“ _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_.” Buster said. “At least three dead. . .”

Tralnor didn’t stop trying to raise Mollie on her phone. It was ringing, and someone was manually sending it to message mode. Joe’s had switched over to an automated message that indicated the device was destroyed or entirely without its power supply.

“Nothing.” Spock said of his endeavor to get T’Lal or his father to pick up.

“Try my dad.” Tralnor recited Justin MacCormack’s contact even though Spock had that information memorized.

They shut out the questions from curious spectators. Those who’d come looking for a break from the monotony got their wish. Tralnor dismissed the commentary panel and ran a muted/subtitled news broadcast put out by Los Angeles’ own KTLA.

 _Is there any truth to the rumors that the AnthroVision Defense League is connected to this terroristic act_? A broadcaster shouted the question at a uniformed LAPD captain who’d come over to address the press.

 _Answer damnit_! Tralnor sent his call out again.

(If I have to, I can try to find them through my police contacts.) Sha’leyen had come over to Spock and Tralnor.

(We might have to take you up on that.) Sent to message mode, Tralnor punched call again. The screen flashed to life in a blur of movement, the receiver picking up a cacophony of sirens. The palmar side of a hand faded and did not reveal Mollie.

“Hello, Mother.” Tralnor refused to even speculate as to what T’Lal was doing in a downtown car park that was overrun with police and fire personnel.

“Tralnor, my son.” She acknowledged. “There has been an incident at your sister’s hotel.”

“Is it connected to the bomb that went off at ‘SC?” He braced for any number of answers he knew were coming, none of them pleasant.

“It is.” T’Lal angled the phone so more could be seen in the background. “Mollie and Joe are physically unharmed. However, we are waiting on the arrival of the Medical Examiner’s investigators.”

Medical Examiners meant dead bodies. What was going on?

“Before you find out on the news or through band alumni who may conflate the facts, your sister’s home was also the target of a firebomb. It went off in the garage, did not set the house alight, but spread to a next-door neighbor. An elderly woman died in that subsequent fire.” Tralnor’s mother looked tired in a way he’d never seen. She had all the coloring of a bowl of cream of broccoli soup.

“Have you talked to them?” Tralnor asked. “Are they okay?”

“They foiled a kidnap/murder plot. The unfortunate result is two of the three people who broke into Mollie’s room were killed in self-defense.”

“May we speak to them, T’Lal?” Spock needed to see his life-long friend and assess for himself that she was okay.

She moved the phone again, likely setting in on the roof of a car. “Let me see if I can bring them over.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Spock said.

T’Lal went toward a couple of ambulances parked about twenty meters away.

“Not good.” Tralnor winced before he could catch his reaction to the sight of a person waving a gold detective’s shield and exploding onto the scene. “Not good at all.”

“Am I to assume that woman is Detective Zadie Pambakian?” Spock studied her, taking a moment to figure out what about this reportedly insecure bigot captured Mollie’s interest.

“The one and only.” Immediately suspicious of Zadie, Tralnor wondered what she had to do with this onslaught of violence.

“ _Mollie_! _Mollie_! !” Detective Pambakian’s face was the same shade as pickled beet brine. “ _Baby, I’m sorry_!”

Blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Mollie met Zadie between the emergency vehicle and the police line, still in clear view from the phone. Mollie tried to avoid an embrace but couldn’t dodge her ex. “ _Get off me, Zadie_.”

Mollie tried to shove her away and duck the unwanted affection. Undeterred, Zadie bounced back, becoming more physically aggressive. Mollie did not want to hit the cop, knowing she could do great bodily harm to this person. Picking a fight with Mallia Ah’delevna was in no earth-raised human’s best interest. Mollie wasn’t as strong as a genetically true Vulcanid, but being gestated and raised on T’Khasi gave her a distinctly unfair advantage over a normal homo sapien.

Awkward groping and forced kisses made the situation worse, driving Joe to start hollering for Zadie to fuck off, but the detective wouldn’t let go and kept shouting apologies, probably thinking that the louder she yelled, the more Mollie would accept the message.

“Sa-pi-maat, ri-dvun’ah!” T’Lal called out a halt to Sarek, who rushed into view. She ran for him and did not catch him before he yanked Zadie off Mollie, dragged her to the taped off perimeter, and shoved her at a couple of uniformed officers. Zadie purposely fell rather than attempting to recapture her balance.

“I have two words.” Tralnor said, regarding the scene in downtown LA. “Diplomatic Immunity.”


	60. Chapter 60

She awoke wracked with psychic pain, fear paralyzed her ability to think, her brain believing she was tied to the bed, no escape. Laura lay in the dark, reliving the nightmare she’d inflicted on Veddah, from his point of view. His wretched agony sailed through the bond. She felt his internal struggle against his own autonomic nervous system as his mind cried out in terror and his body flooded with pleasure. Her own memories kicked in, the physical pain, the bleeding as her flesh tore, the monumental regret that she’d had one option to protect him from that predator, Hoskins.

(I’m sorry, Veddah.) She said, knowing he’d not hear her in his sleep.

Franklin was right, Veddah was just a boy, a sweet, kind boy, who didn’t deserve what she’d wrought upon him, no matter the color of the blood in his veins.

The flashback neared its end, and she felt her head sinking into the pillows in anticipation of the orgasm he’d fought. She gasped as the unwanted climax detonated inside her. Veddah’s recollection concluded, letting Laura lift herself from her bed. She stumbled into the bathroom where she could wash the sweat and tears from her face.

Her reflection above the sink was that of a facade, a false front. The Golden Girl stared back at her, but that’s not who she was, not who’d she’d ever been. Following in the turbulence of the last few weeks, she’d learned a lot about herself and the organization she’d dedicated over half her life to. She recognized that part of her was a stunted little girl who was still trying to get back at institutions that had wronged her. If Veddah was right about her mind, she was trapped between two extremely hypocritical cultures who only wanted her if she was deemed useful: the Vulcans, who shunned their own IDIC philosophy, thumbing their noses at her, and the AVDL, who’d exploited a vulnerable teenager. There was no re-entry into the world of normal humans. She’d never been one of them. Consolidated Terran School taught her that much.

“You knew it was wrong. You wanted acceptance and took it the only place you could find it. It’s getting near time to Pay the Boatman, Golden Girl. This ride is grinding to an ugly end.” She fled the scathing gaze of her reflection and put on a pair of thick socks as to avoid her heavy-soled footwear.

It took no time to get to the VIP cell at night. There was no one about the ship to get in her way or ask stupid questions. The smell hit her, as it always did when the door opened. She’d grown used to it again, and because it came from this specific person, it no longer struck her as offensive. It grossed her bridge crew out when she showed up, his body chemistry wafting off her even after a shower.

Asleep on his mattress, buried in blankets, he didn’t move as she entered the room. Only when she crouched down and peeled the layers back did he make a sound. She crawled into his cocoon and pressed against him.

(Adun’a?) His eyes fluttered open.

(It’s okay, Adun. Go back to sleep.) She draped an arm around him, drawing him even closer, desperately needing to feel him, some part of her mind not sure that he was real rather than a figment of her imagination.

He touched his forehead to hers. (I need to know something.)

(Anything. I keep no secrets from you.)

(Are you serious regarding our bond?) He set a hand against the side of her face. (You call me husband, but how do I tell you are not acting, that you are not planning to harm me later?)

Cornered, Laura said, (No man has ever treated me with the respect or graciousness that you show me. I haven’t earned it. I don’t know where it comes from or how you can grant it to someone who’s been so abusive to you. That’s why I give you deference. I don’t want to hurt you again. I wish I’d known you or someone like you when I was a child. . . _I might not have become this_. . . Yes, I’m serious about the bond, I have to be, it's the least you deserve. And after this is all over, and you’ve gotten rid of me, I hope you can still make something work with T’Danna.)

( _You are my wife_.) He sounded like he meant it, like he could accept Laura’s background and previous actions in the same way she did with him. He took her, the individual, not the AVDL, even though she had no redeeming qualities that she could find.

(For better or for worse? That’s what the popular human vows have said for hundreds of years.) She swallowed hard and moved the hand she’d used to pull him close and placed it on his cheek. Why did this feel so right? What was it about him that gave her back a sliver of humanity? (In sickness and in health for as long as we both shall live?)

 _I am a repugnant personification of the monster under the bed. I’m wicked. I’m cruel. I destroy people, including you. You should hate me_. . . She didn’t get to finish her thought because Veddah kissed her. (We’ll be seen by the cameras.)

(Let them watch.) He said. (Let them see their hero make love to the enemy.)

Laura smirked and kissed him back, hard.

  
  
  
Spock went up to the bridge as part of his busywork project to recalibrate the science station’s link with the main sensor array. He walked in on a game of _I Spy_ between Lt. Uhura and the Captain.

“Spock, you’ll probably get this one right away.” Uhura said as she pulled her earpiece and set it on her board. “I spy with my little eye—”

He ignored her which he wasn’t usually wont to do, but he didn’t have the ability to deal with stupid trivialities today. He’d been rumbled by Nurse Chapel at breakfast, forced to listen to her blather on about her love of cooking and how she wished she could do more. When he logically suggested spending some time in food service so she might engage in this favored activity, she swore, inferred he was an asshole, and huffed off to cry and carry on at Joan Patel about how he thought she was worthless. How did indulging in a constructive, hands-on hobby, like Sulu did with his botany, lead to the notion of perceiving oneself as less-than? Humans! How did they live with themselves?

 _Say something. Say anything. Spock_! James Kirk was not living with himself. The captain was coming undone. Work, relationships, all the things that had come so easily to him reared up and threw him to the ground. He was having a hard time getting back up. Kirk’s frenetic chaos knocked against Spock’s shields, trying to pull loose threads and find a way in.

 _I cannot let you in_ , Spock thought as he placed all of his focus on the job he’d come to do. Testing the redesigned interface, he ran a life-form scan on Starbase 21 so he might compare what the machinery told him versus the numbers he’d collected from Captain Castaic that morning. As the sensor data rolled in, he picked up Uhura’s consternation at an incoming transmission.

“I have a feed coming in coded as URGENT3469117. There’s no precedent of—”

Kirk interrupted. “I’ve never heard of that either.”

“It is Buffalo Bill Cody.” Spock said. “Put her on the main viewer, Lt. Uhura.”

Captain Cody was in an office at Starfleet’s ShiKahr station, located in the heart of the city’s government complex. She looked like she’d not slept. “I knew you’d recognize and have to answer if I prefixed things a certain way.”

The last time Spock had seen or heard of that message label was a comm from Paulette when a landing party had gone to hell. “You have my attention.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out what went down yesterday and keep coming up against barricades. Diplomatic, LAPD, Interpol, Fleet Security, and Criminal Investigative Service, what the fuck is going on, Spock? All I wanted to do was make sure Mollie and Joe are okay, and I can’t get any word at all.”

“I have not been able to contact them either.”

“But you know something.” Cody accused.

“Billie, where are you going with this?” Kirk interrupted, looking from the reticent Vulcan to the irritated California Girl.

“There’s a coordinated cabal that tried to murder our friends yesterday, Jimmy. These are the same breed of motherfuckers who’ve already slain two of our own.” She rubbed her eyes and blinked to draw her world back into focus. “Wild West Show is out of commission for a month. My crew and I are on leave. I thought I’d see if I couldn’t do a little hunting.”

“If I arrange for you to talk to them, will you abandon your plan of finding the perpetrators?” Spock could not let Buffalo Bill get in the way of the quest for Laura Hillyard no matter how well-intentioned she was.

“That’s—Spock, just how deep are you into whatever this is?” Her irritation at being stonewalled everywhere she turned morphed into concern as he’d tried to do the same.

“Yes or no, Captain Cody?”

“I’d be an idiot to say no, wouldn’t I?” Her suspicion was unshakable. “When you need a hand, you contact me. Until then, I’ll await their call.”

“Very good.”

She gave him the V for Victory. “Puk-tor fa’rak, Spock.”

“Puk-tor fa’rak, Maeve.”

When the screen went blank, and Spock put his mind to coming up with a way to connect Buffalo Bill with Mollie and Joe, Captain Kirk shoved him off his train of thought. “You sure do have a lot of _friends_ , Mr. Spock.”

Uhura, brows raised at the acidic tone the captain used, gave Spock a look suggesting she was worried about Kirk. “Excuse me for a moment, Captain, Commander.”

At the Lieutenant’s retreat to parts unknown, Spock was left alone with Kirk, who turned in his chair to scowl toward the science station. “Captain?”

 _Why can’t I stop hurting you_? _What the fuck is wrong with me_? “You know, I used to go out with Billie? We, ah, right before I landed the Enterprise. I didn’t know you knew one another. . . It was the whole very long-distance relationship thing that did us in. Me here and her off wherever Wild West Show took her. She’s good people. I’m glad she’s your friend.”

Kirk got up and left the bridge.

 _You don’t own him, Jimmy. And he doesn’t owe you jack shit outside the line of duty_. He’d stepped into his office to calm the fuck down before he did something else he’d regret. A mental note about asking Bones to up the dose on his anxiety meds, thoughts about cold showers and dying alone, he packed himself up and went back to work. Spock was gone.

  
  
  
“. . . _wish all you Vulcans would fuck off and die_. . .” Was the comment Sohja heard as she exited her cab at the Pan Am unloading zone, having spent the entire ride listening to the driver rant about his hatred of anything or anyone outside of a very narrow definition of humanity. She gave thought to pay him for his service, acted like she was going to swipe her chit, then deliberately put her money away. “You stupid bitch!

You can’t rip me off like that.”

“I just did.” She was completely done with Trego Delta and its hostile population and waved down the nearest skycap.

“That Vulcan whore just stiffed me.” The driver climbed from the car, hollering after her. “Greenie Cunt!”

The skycap uttered, “Code Silver, PAA, Entrance Three,” into his radio.

“Repeat SK19.” A disembodied voice from a dispatch room hidden within the spaceport replied.

“Code Silver, PAA, Entrance Three.”

“I want my fucking money!”

Skycap 19 took Sohja by the elbow and escorted her inside, directly to the front of the check-in counter. “Let’s get you out of here, honey.”

“Bitch!” The driver entered the ticketing concourse and pointed at her. He made it a few meters past the door when security walled him in.

Sohja knew she rightfully should have paid, avoiding any further discord with this person, that’s what a good little CHA did. Today, she was on her own time, representing only herself, and she’d grown tired of the insults and vitriol, hurled food and bodily fluids, and the cab was her breaking point. What she’d done was not professional nor good Vulcan behavior, but she was beyond caring. Even a career working amongst the greediest and most untrustworthy of humans did not prepare her for the fire and brimstone of Trego Delta. Since when were frat bro businessmen such a cut above anyone else?

Upgraded to first class for her troubles, she found a quiet corner of the Clipper Club Lounge wherein she finally had the chance to check in on the AVDL bombings in Los Angeles. Maybe she could find some truths about the multiple assassination attempts on her friends?

Breakfast in the hotel dining room left her to overhear staff conversations about joyous justice being done back on the homeworld. The waitstaff found countless reasons to drop by her table, look her in the face and ask if she needed anything else, then curse her under their breath as she declined. Other hotel guests, especially women whose husbands and boyfriends couldn’t keep their jaws from dropping, streamed by, cordially letting Sohja know she was an evil slut for purposely tempting their men.

The only reports she found were sanitized into uselessness. Trego Delta censored incoming media and therefore blocked access to most legitimate news services. Even the _Los Angeles Times_ was blockaded for, as the firewall page stated, libelous portrayals of the peoples and morals that make Trego Delta a stronghold of the Human Tradition. She’d have to wait until her flight put in at its next stop to figure things out.

Ready to get up and order a drink at the bar, a new message arrived. Buffalo Bill was unknowingly raising hell. Sohja told her to stand down and do as Spock had asked.

  
  
  
Kirk and Uhura did their own thing for nearly an hour, the fun of their earlier game long forgotten. Trapped at a starbase, Enterprise’s bridge didn’t need more than two or three people to keep an eye on things if that. No sense in staffing the helm when they weren’t going anywhere.

“All we can do is try, Mr. Spock.” Sha’leyen said when the turbolift opened. The scientists stepped out and immediately fell into a serious conversation with the communications officer.

“Captain, we need to reach out to family and friends in California.” Spock did not offer the reason, nor did he say Mollie’s name.

“Fine.” Kirk agreed, and in an attempt to show he wasn’t a complete dick, he said, “I’d be worried too if I was you.”

“Lieutenant, you may place the call.”

From the sound made as the line connected, they were contacting a private home. A safe house? Kirk speculated, mentally preparing for Her to answer.

“You have reached the Big House, Kayva Ah’delevna-MacCormack speaking.” A preteen Vulcan girl, dressed in what Kirk imagined Spock wore to school as a child, picked up.

The captain knew this was Tralnor’s younger kid. She seemed more mature than her eleven years. What he didn’t immediately understand was the lack of greeting or direction from Spock. The girl tried to keep an emotional reaction out of her eyes and knew she’d failed.

“I bear a strong resemblance to my mother. I can tell by your reaction to my appearance that you knew her.”

“Yes, I knew Amelie Grace.” Spock acted like he saw a ghost. “You sound like her.”

“I know I bring grief to the people who loved her. Tushah nash-veh k'odu.” Kayva said the traditional words, _I grieve with thee_ , and took two precisely measured steps away from the screen. “I shall get T’Lal for you.”

T’Lal, that was where Tralnor got his not-human-green eyes. She and Sarek obviously shared common ancestry. “Get your schoolbag and finish unloading the dishwasher.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“Spock?” The older woman appeared ill, lacking the proper coloration of her species.

“Let me introduce you to James T. Kirk, Captain, USS Enterprise, Lt. Nyota Uhura, chief of communications, and—”

“Thol-ro-kan Sha’leyen.” T’Lal completed Spock’s presentation.

“I have not been addressed as Thol-ro-kan since I was around your granddaughter’s age.” The bioarchaeologist was clearly uncomfortable with whatever title T’Lal called her.

“Mallia and Joseph are still at LAPD Southwestern Division. Once I take Kayva to the Embassy and drop her off for school, I will board the diplomatic shuttle to LA so I can collect them and bring them here.”

“When they arrive, Sha’leyen and I must speak to them.”

“I will see to it, Spock.” She rubbed her hands together to massage her fingers. “Sarek is fortunate he is a diplomat and that Zadie has, to borrow a human term, finally ‘screwed the pooch’ this time. The detective is trying to find a way to press assault charges, but in light of the fact that she instigated what happened yesterday, her attempt will not go far.”

Eyebrow cocked, Spock said, “Detective Pambakian set this off?”

“She wanted to win Mollie back as a romantic partner by acting the part of the rescuer.” T’Lal didn’t disguise the disgust in her voice. “Zadie told the AVDL where to find her. The detective’s obsessive and harmful behavior knows no bounds.”


	61. Chapter 61

Kirk’s mind could not shake the images of that little girl, who by no choice of her own wore the face of her dead mother. For her to have an awareness of the anguish Amelie Grace’s specter caused was as painful as the grief she inadvertently set off. “Bones, it’s one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever seen. I thought Spock was going to fall over when she answered.”

“Murder doesn’t only kill the victim. It fundamentally changes their loved ones.” McCoy came to the captain’s office at his bidding.

“She’s the reason we’re going to get Hillyard.” Kirk flattened his hands against the surface of his desk, keeping fists from forming. “Kayva, can’t begin to live until the people who took her mother from her are brought to justice. The people Seren’s crew left behind, it’s the same story.”

“Jim, don’t let yourself get any more wound up. I’ll have to add blood pressure meds to your daily routine.”

“We get Laura, she gives us names in the Grace/Balloch slayings, she goes to a penal colony to rot for the rest of her natural life.” Kirk nodded, liking the concept. “How’s that sick note of yours coming along?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, but I’d like to think my proposal has fallen on the right desks.” He wasn’t optimistic.

“Bones, I don’t like it when you’re glum. Backhandedly sarcastic, crotchety, I’ll take you, but please, don’t be downhearted.” He tapped a short cadence with his fingers. “I need you to keep me going, and that kid deserves to know who killed her mom.”

  
  
  
The captain, back on the bridge, seemed in higher spirits than when he’d left. Spock noticed an immediate difference. After weeks of struggle and rancor against his personal demons, Kirk had regained some of his distinctive swagger.

“Sha’leyen, I don’t suppose I could talk you into trying to get your hands on the case files for Amelie Grace and Lt. Commander Jock Balloch?” Constructive determination sounded in his voice.

“Captain?” Spock wanted to see where this inquiry was headed before it began in earnest.

“I just got done going over things again with Dr. Tralnor. Twice now, he’s told me all he knows. Its time to know more. And when we get our hands on that Hillyard bitch, I want to be so well-versed in these cases that I can recite them at her, use the facts to get her to tell me what we need to know.” He raised the corners of his mouth in a feral grin. _Finally, I’ve got something to sink my teeth into_. “Stay on the bridge while you’re finding this stuff. I think the background will work in your favor.”

“I am going to my quarters and retrieving my warrant card.”

“We eagerly await your return.” The productive mischief-maker was emerging from hibernation.

  
  
  
“Leonard, I don’t disagree that you prove your point, and have the citations to show for it, but Nogura will take one sniff of this and start screaming bullshit.” Chief of Starfleet Medical, Dr. Aristotle Yamaguchi, a distinguished man in his late seventies, appeared more exotic looking than Spock, his Greek/Japanese features a testament to the beauty genetic out-mixture could create.

“Ari, you know I wouldn’t be floating this past you if it weren’t important.” McCoy nudged his former mentor. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“I concur, but that’s neither here nor there.” The older man’s contemplative expression was one McCoy remembered from his residency. Back then, Yamaguchi had been a Starfleet Reservist. If it weren’t for him, Leonard H. McCoy, MD, would have crawled into a bottle and died years ago. Ari had gotten him through his vicious divorce and loss of his daughter by giving him a new focus in life, a new specialty: space medicine.

“I don’t know much about your captain, but from the scuttlebutt, I’ve picked up regarding this kid’s relationship with Nogura. . .”

“It’s contentious between them.”

“Nogura has wanted to turf Kirk for years. From what I’ve seen, that gangrenous little carbuncle lives to destroy careers. If I sign off on this plan of yours, it’ll be vetoed.” Yamaguchi tugged his tunic down from where it liked to bunch up at his shoulders.

“Any other ideas, Doc?”

“Actually, yes, Leonard. When is your ship coming back?”

“Less than a year.” McCoy had it figured, not quite Spock-like, to the month, week, and day.

“T-RFS or a full decom?” Temporarily Removed from Service or Fully Decommissioned.

“Actually, she’s coming home for a refit.” Maybe his old friend would find him an assignment at Medical HQ while Enterprise got her nip and tuck.

Ari nodded and thought a bit harder. “I have a friend, who has a friend, who might just be able to help you out, Leonard. The terrorist-hunting angle will, I believe, be the gilding on the lily to make this happen.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“Not yet. I’ll call you with the update.”

He tried not to get too excited, but shoved off against the front of his desk and crashed his chair into the wall. “ _Yes_!”

“Dr. McCoy?” Jean Patel popped her head in to see if anything was the matter.

“Everything’s fine, Jean.”

  
  
  
Tralnor was told he could take any open seat but didn’t feel qualified to let his ass warm a single one of the chairs in Enterprise’s nerve center. He sure as hell didn’t want to take the helm and wound up at what he thought was an auxiliary security station. He hated being on the bridge.

Detective Sargeant Sha’leyen signed off on a call to SO314’s Detective Chief Superintendent. She’d gone through Scotland Yard proper and pulled some strings with other connected individuals within the Met. One or more of these requests would deliver, and Tralnor would get to see the Murder Book on his wife. He’d never handled the actual documentation. The prospect that he might learn something new battled the disemboweling incompetence he still felt at not protecting Amelie Grace from her brutal demise.

He remembered when he got the news of her murder. It was nearing midnight in ShiKahr. He’d just put Kayva back down after she’d woken up in an agitated state about an hour earlier. The doorbell rang as he was coming back into T’Lessa’s living room. One of the many family members who’d shown up for the impending bonding answered the summons. The celebratory mood shriveled and the grieving began.

T’Lal answered this call, greeted everyone on the bridge, and escorted them up to the music room. Still in shock from their ordeal, Mollie looked marginally better than Joe, but only because the clothes she’d borrowed from Livia complimented her hair and eyes. Joe was in a set of Justin MacCormack’s pajamas.

“They had a rough night and need to get some rest once they’ve spent some time with a Healer. Do not take too long.” T’Lal placed the comm on a credenza and set off for parts unknown.

  
  
  
Kevin Radovitch’s attorney talked big and said little. He made his client out as some wrongfully accused angel baby who’d been abandoned by his mean daddy.

“What do you want me for?” Laura started spinning a stylus over the back of her thumb.

“My client is hoping to broker some information. His defense doesn’t come cheap.”

“It costs money to tell a convincing lie, does it?” She started to mentally disengage from the conversation.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“And I’m not a very nice person. You have two minutes.” She set her hand over the disconnect toggle.

“My client can tell you anything you want to know about the Enterprise. As a security officer—”

“Low-ranking cannon fodder like this kid won’t have had access to the types of things that he’s convinced you he knows. Besides, I’ve got all of the schematics, security protocols, and tech bulletins on Constitution-class ships. How the fuck did he think I _twice_ disabled Enterprise? Magic?”

“Uh. . .” He’d not expected such a retort. “What about some choice bits on the command team?”

“Give me an example.”

“The first officer was in a dust-up a couple of years ago that involved an emergency trip to Vulcan. Sounds like the guy lost his marbles and maybe isn’t mentally fit for his post. If you want to know more, we can come to a financial agreement.” He was sure he had her there.

“I know a hell of a lot more about that incident than your client. Even if he broke into personnel files to dig for details, my intelligence network gets things that won’t have made it into a Starfleet database. That officer is of sound mind, and though it galls me to say it, he’s overly qualified for his position.” Laura thought of the source of that information. Stonn and T’Pring were two of the AVDL’s most productive operatives. Not having access to Spock’s family wealth meant T’Pring had to make up income lost when the maintenance money stopped coming in. She was a spoiled brat, coddled by her family, worshiped by her spineless whelp of a man, and used to living an expensive lifestyle. She and Stonn were easily exploited. “Have you thought about taking this case pro bono?”

Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he said, “That’s not an option at the moment.”

“I suppose not, you’ve got to concentrate on redeeming Mr. Garth after he nearly crippled a Starfleet NCO. I heard that if he’d hit her any harder, she might have died.” Laura yawned. “So, I’m thinking your corpse-fetishist red shirt needs to spend some time getting to know his new court-appointed lawyer.”

“Wait, don’t hang up.”

She flipped the toggle. Screen blank, she opened the snack drawer. This was a whoopie pie kind of day.

  
  
  
“I truly and honestly didn’t intend to kill that guy. I just wanted to stop him from shooting Mollie. That’s all.” Joe gave a weary sigh. “I didn’t even hit him that hard. . . He was there to murder me.”

“The one I cut up with my reed knife, he bled out.” Mollie said. She didn’t appear as haunted by the experience as Joe, but she was an expert at subjugating emotional expression. “LAPD say we won’t be charged.”

Kirk kept looking between the viewscreen and the first officer, gauging facial expressions and modulations in voices. He searched for any hints that the relationship Spock shared with Mollie was more than the aforementioned friendship. Neither of them mooned or smiled at one another. Their eyes connected, unspoken sentiments communicated, but. . . _Insecurity will get you nowhere, Jimmy. Play nice for fuck’s sake and stop second-guessing_.

“Have the police arrested the people who set off the bombs? My civilian news feed said, including the murder/kidnap crew, that the fatalities have gone up to nine.” _See, that’s good. No need to be hostile_.

“Eleven, Captain Kirk.” Joe replied. “Smoke inhalation from the campus bombing is taking a toll.”

“The woman who came to my room, she’s been taken to the prison ward at County/USC Hospital. She jumped when Sarek kicked the door in, cut herself on my knife, nicked the jugular. . .” Mollie realized she was going off on a tangent instead of directly answering Kirk’s question. “She’s spilling her guts to the detectives. Nearly dying yesterday was some kind of come to Jesus moment. LAPD is optimistic they’ll make more arrests this afternoon.”

Mollie looked like she wanted to say more but had to keep her mouth shut because she couldn’t talk in front of certain people. Kirk was sure he was one of those people. “And we’re fine, for the most part. . . I have to keep telling myself that it was self-defense, that we can’t be blamed for their actions.”

“The first time’s the hardest.” The captain commiserated. “Not that killing people is something that gets easier, I think it's just not as much of a knock to your system. It’s a tough headspace to live in, but it lets up eventually.”

Mollie and Joe nodded, then she said, “We need to go.”

“Before you do, call Buffalo Bill and let her know you’re alive and reasonably well. She’s sort of fallen into this with us and will only stand off to the side if she gets to talk to you.” Tralnor, like his sister, looked like he could have said a lot more but chose not to. “We’ll send you her contact information.”

“Is she not on Wild West Show anymore?” Joe said and rubbed his eyes. “I always figured they’d haul her out of there boots first in thirty years.”

“Her ship’s put in for some major repairs. She’s on leave and bored.”

“Great, she’s out looking for trouble. Does that sound like our Buffalo Bill or what?” The lack of an aloha shirt took some of Joe’s boisterous personality away.

After promises to call Captain Cody and the same for their friends on the Enterprise, Mollie and Joe were escorted from the music room and T’Lal gave a brief sign-off.

“Captain, I’ve got an incoming pre-recorded transmission.” Uhura, who’d probably thought she’d made it to quitting time, swiveled in her seat. “Type-IV Scrambler. Not Starfleet.”

Kirk bristled, only people who didn’t want to disclose their identities or locations sent stuff out wrapped in Scramblers. Type-IV was the most complex, an algorithm that continually overwrote itself before and after it hit each transmission point in its journey. “Can you break it?”

“I’ve never seen one like this. An expert programmed it to overwrite and switch between types of identifying scripts.” Her nimble fingers danced over the comm board. “Sending it between different data banks for retrieval, it changes then too.”

The captain got up to see what was going on with this message. Kirk had to get in close to Uhura and the other person hovering over her shoulder. He didn’t know he’d let it happen until he felt Spock’s hand whipped from under his own. _Shit_! _That’s not what I wanted to happen_.

“Do not send it again.” Spock directed. “We cannot insert a missing value and break the scramble if the cyphers are switching type.”

“Okay, Mr. Spock. I’ve got it pinned down.” One of her screens started a scrolling list of some kind of equation.

Kirk didn’t know what it did, if it did anything, beyond give a range for something. “Put that up on the main viewer, so we’re not all having to squint and trip over one another.”

“Bioarch uses something very similar to this for determining the stature of an individual from skeletal remains.” Sha’leyen’s eyes scanned the list. “Each of these is missing two values.”

“Give us an example of a completed equation.” Kirk prodded, wanting to be done with this little stunt.

“We’ll use you as our final answer and work backward, Captain. What is your official height?”

“About 178.” He said.

“Not accurate enough. What do your medical records state?” She reiterated.

“I believe Dr. McCoy has you listed at 177.8.” Spock didn’t need to remind Kirk that science and math were about precision. Estimates didn’t fly in his world.

Sha’leyen slid into the science station and subdivided the main viewer to show her math at the bottom corner.

_(2.32 x femur) +65.63 s.d. +/-3.94; femur= 48.34. (2.42 x tibia) +81.93 s.d. +/-4.00; tibia= 39.61_

“Now that we have our missing values, femur and tibia lengths, we can run them through the equation type the scramble stopped at. We’re fortunate it stopped on a variation on a plain old linear problem.” She added more to the screen, closely mimicking what kept shedding from the message.

_[(1.16 x 48.34) x (1.21 x 39.61)] + 73.81 s.d. +/-3.97_

Uhura sent the completed stature formula to the message like a password for a standard encrypted file. The algebra fell away, replaced with the grinning face of evil.

“Greetings and salutations, Captain Sunshine.” Laura Hillyard was radiant, having shed a lot of the pasty color from having spent so long on her ship. Cheeks flush, slightly tanned, Kirk hated that he couldn’t force his gaze to stray from her image.

“Your necrophiliac security officer is trying to sell me information about you, your crew, and your mighty ship. The reason I’m telling you this is because Kevin Radovitch is sicker in the head than I am and needs to be locked away before he’s found screwing grandma at her wake. For me, killing is a dirty job that’s just an ugly part of doing business. Yes, I like to add a flare of the dramatic, wind people up before I dispatch them. But once they’re dead? You’d never catch me stealing body parts. _Even I have some standards_.” She stopped to take a bite of a chocolate cream pastry. “These are so damned good. . . Anyway, I’ve included a recording of the conversation I had with his lawyer. And no matter how much you analyze this message and pick apart that video, you’re not going to find me by tracing this. . . Wish I could make this longer and draw out your agony, but we’ve both got ships to run.”

She waved and was gone.


	62. Chapter 62

The exchange between Laura and Ollie Schultz ran its course. Kirk stood, leaned against the helm, and addressed the four others behind him on the upper level. “What do you suppose motivated her to share this? Does she think she’s earning points toward a lenient prison sentence?”

“She’s as disgusted by Kevin Radovitch as we are. Locking him up is her motivation.” Sha’leyen said. “This lends credence to my theory that she is t’Vau-nay.”

She explained the meaning of the term, but Kirk didn’t believe a person like Laura had any capacity whatsoever for remorse. “She shows no mercy or any indication that a moral thought has ever come out of her head.”

The Kennuk chose not to reveal anything to the captain that wasn’t in the police files, and even those had the rape taken from Mick Howard’s contributions.

Sha’leyen agreed with the captain’s assessment based on the information available to him, but also added, “Laura is consistently moral in the context of her universe, more-so than the typical law-abiding citizen. I’ve been examining her collected canonical monographs in _Ad Praecipitium Hominum_ , a multi-volume set of books put out by the AVDL. She does not compromise her morality for the sake of ease or convenience. If you read closely enough, play around with the language so it's less emotionally antagonizing, she’s logically principled. That’s why I believe her only intention is to remove Radovitch from the general public, even if it means vaguely admitting to her involvement on Melbek III.”

“Let’s keep this under our hats for a bit before I have to turn it over to Legal. Can you send me some of the essays Hillyard penned? I’m a sucker for interesting literature.” Kirk opened his mouth to say more when the turbolift opened, spilling out the swing shift.

  
  
  
“Buffalo Bill could become a huge pain in our asses.” Joe, vocal cords strained from overuse, red-rimmed eyes, was completely drained. “It’s easy to forget that she’s a behavioral psychologist underneath that captain’s braid. She’s as good at reading people as any psion, especially when they’re stressed. She’s onto us.”

“That was the impression I got earlier. She will not overtly involve herself in our issues, but she can continue to interrogate us and develop her own narrative. Her drive to protect her self-selected family is strong.” Sohja, taking advantage of Pan Am’s legendary luxury, had full use of an executive pod just off the passenger ship’s piano lounge. She ate the olive from her empty martini glass.

Tralnor and Sha’leyen had molded themselves into the lumpy purple love seat while Spock opted to remain on his feet.

“We need to come up with something to keep her occupied. We know what she’s like when she’s got too much time on her hands.” Tralnor put his head on Sha’leyen’s shoulder. “That’s how she wound up in the captain’s chair.”

Spock recalled how her shift from blue to gold happened. Starfleet wanted to stop her taking a handsome offer from the private sector that promised to keep her in her research with unlimited opportunities for further development. Command gave her Wild West Show as her own living laboratory and ongoing observational site for her work on the psychology of confined/regimented workspaces.

“Was there anything else on Trego Delta, Sohja?” Mollie appeared slightly better after her session with the healer.

“While there was no sign of our object, I did get some useful information from Professor D.D. Goodwin.” She told them about the woman’s encounter with the good captain and her slave, and the artifacts Hillyard appropriated from the university’s collections. “She insisted Laura and Veddah are lovers, and that whatever is between them runs much deeper than master/slave sexual exploitation.”

“We’ve got to get that kid away from her. I can’t imagine what she’s doing to him.” Joe sneered and slumped, elbows on his knees, hands on the back of his neck. “So, where do we check out next? What’s the most likely of the two remaining places?”

“Which one is physically closest to Trego Delta? That’s where Laura will go first.” Mollie perched on the edge of the sofa and turned her head toward the music room’s open door. Livia, T’Lal, and Sarek were conversing out in the hall.

“Pezig’s Gate is closest.” Spock said.

“That decides that.” Joe yawned. “I’m going to go look this place up after I get some sleep.”

  
  
  
Fear, inadequacy, maladaptive attachment behaviors, self-sabotage, lack of trust, Kirk made a list of the traits that repeatedly doomed his romantic relationships. He’d think of a name, check it against those five jealousy red-alerts, and damned if every serious/long-term coupling he’d been half of hadn’t dissolved because of one or more of those qualities.

He had a child he’d never seen outside of obligatory school photos and holiday letters because he feared Carol would leave him for the first man she could land who had a ground assignment. He didn’t allow himself to trust her, he just knew she was looking for better, he wasn’t good enough for her, every call, every visit with a coworker was just another way of undermining him. He loved her, he loved their son, and he’d kicked himself out of their lives.

What about Seth Margate, the civilian engineering consultant brought in to do an ergonomics study of the Farragut’s manual data input interfaces? Seth never strayed and never would have, but the second Seth moved on to the next ship in his rotation, all Kirk could think about was his lover with someone else. Unfounded accusations made for subspace shouting matches, devolved into circumspect written messages, gave way to a final fuck you following one last fit over perceived, nonexistent, wandering eyes.

He recognized his shit behavior for what it was, but like an obsessive addict, he compulsively repeated the same dead-end rituals. Why couldn’t he translate his academic and professional successes into a viable pattern for finding and keeping a life partner? What about his solid friendships didn’t convert when love was romantic instead of platonic?

The doorbell sounded, and he called for the portal to open. Kuznetsov entered his quarters and started shucking her boots before the door closed. She was in his bed, clothes off and waiting before he had much time to think about the chasm between friendship/romantic love with Spock and friendship/friends-who-just-so-happen-to-fuck with Kuznetsov.

“You look like the weight of at least one world has lifted from your shoulders.” She nibbled his earlobe and started working on freeing him from his trousers. “Good day?”

“Yeah, it was a good day.”

  
  
  


Ralash-t’mu-yor was a tradition Kirk thought he'd keep around after Tralnor eventually departed. It brought people together in a friendly manner that wasn’t dictated by the structure and regulation of working on a starship. When they hit the stars again, the next five-year mission would be home to Night Music.

Fresh from the shower, he and Kuznetsov made their way to the Rec Room. These days, the remaining crew from Dragon were welcome to come over and join in on the fun.

“I’ve heard stories about this.” She wanted to know more as they stopped in the officers’ mess to grab a bite to eat and get next door.

He relayed the origin story and how it worked out on a starship. “It’s something to look forward to after a hard day, or a stultifyingly dull one as so many are right now.”

“Dr. Tralnor is a classical musician, right? That is what band directors teach, isn’t it?” She’d picked up what the label said was ham and cheese. Kirk immediately warned of the texture issues. She chose cucumber instead.

“He’s classically trained, can play the hell out of a violin, but he doesn’t limit himself.” He looked over the cling-film wrapped sandwiches and also wound up with the cucumber since it sounded the least repulsive.

Kirk and McCoy took up their usual places, Kuznetsov at the Enterprise captain’s other side. The big screen was lit up, sound off, showing a group of about forty college kids getting ready for a rehearsal. _Damnit_! _The cucumbers are like a limp dick, and they’ve sweated into the cheese, making it all slimy. How is it possible to keep fucking up on sandwiches_?

“Good evening.” Tralnor had a silver trumpet in his right hand. “I’m one of the assistant directors for the Trojan Marching Band, and we’re getting ready to start choreographing dance moves for a new chart that’s being played at this year’s Summer Splendor fundraising concert. Leave now if copious swearing and yelling gets to you. It’s about to get really loud in here.”

Unmuted, the shouting began.

“Oh fuck! Dr. T, the hair, it’s fucking awful.”

A guy said. “Holy balls.”

“Oh Shit!” Someone started a group chant, _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ , that only stopped when Tralnor cut them off with a conductor’s hand motion.

“This dude’s Vulcan? How does this even work, you plug it into the wall and use it like a metronome?” A young male voice let loose with the snottiness of someone who was used to having his way. “So fucking stupid.”

“Shut the fuck up you sack. You might think you’re being quiet, but he can hear like a safe-cracker.” The girl’s voice was smooth.

“He’s in charge of a pep band? Can they even be peppy? Music has feelings, and Vulcans’ emotions are beaten out of them as children.”

“Dr. Tralnor is trumpet alumni. You don’t get to talk to him like that.” She replied. “Go eat a bag of dicks.”

Two more students, also Vulcans, entered the room and started assembling their instruments. They put in earplugs before taking their places. Whoever the trash-talker was, a sigh of disgust followed by, “Are you fucking kidding me, is there a Greenie conspiracy going on here? You pussies let yourselves be ordered around by an elf-eared robot.”

“Trumpet, third row, seat six, stand up.” Tralnor said. A kid with surfer looks and a sullen/sour expression glared, pissed that he’d gotten caught. “I’m looking right at you.”

“Get on your fucking feet and answer the professor.” The section leader prodded.

“ _Doctor_?” The kid had braced himself and put on one of those smug smiles that implied he was better than everyone else in the room.

“Name and home department?”

“Jake Miles, communications.” He rolled his eyes.

“You’re not a previous student of mine, nor were you in the marching band this fall. Where did you come from?”

“I’m a transfer from Santa Monica CC, my first semester here.”

Someone in the flute section said, “ _Not smart enough to get in as a freshman_.”

“Mr. Miles, what are the five qualities of an Honorable Trojan?” All the others in the room recited this list to themselves.

A shrug and a shake of a head, “Who cares?”

“Hey, fuck you.” A trombone said loud enough for all to hear.

“A Trojan is Faithful, Scholarly, Skillful, Courageous, and Ambitious. You possibly have three of these, but lack faith and courage.” Tralnor began.

“Wait a—” The kid tried to talk back and was told by the section leader to shut his fat pie hole and listen.

“McCarran, why don’t you explain.” Tralnor turned it over to the senior trumpet.

“If you believe that he can’t do his job, that we’re dumbasses for defending him, and that you’re god’s gift to music, that’s a lack of faith in the Trojans who’ve gone before us, like Dr. Tralnor. You’ve got a lack of faith in us, implying that we can’t be good musicians.

“Sitting back here and being a complete dickhole to our director, talking shit about T’Mir and Solnot, shows you don’t have the courage to evolve past a narrow, bigoted mind-view that fucks up other people just so you can feel good about your shit-ass self.” The section leader took his seat.

“Thank you for showing interest in our athletics and events bands, Mr. Miles. We are not in need of your services.” The Vulcan remained calm and professional.

“Pack your shit and get the fuck out of here.” The same girl from earlier said.

“B-flat scale.” Tralnor started rehearsal, and Jake Miles couldn't disappear fast enough.

“Can you imagine what it is like to go through that every day of your life?” Kuznetsov commented to Kirk. “I know I wouldn’t want to be a non-human in Starfleet, especially a Vulcan. Our harassment of them is endless, and then we hold it against them that they can’t conform to our ideals.”

Kirk latched onto her last line, thinking on that rather than listening to the music. He found Spock with Sha’leyen, looked over at them, and thought on the number of times he’d told Spock that he liked him just the way he was while simultaneously pushing his friend to open up more, show him more of the man behind the mask, and yes, feeling resentful when Spock didn’t do just that. Then came a declaration of love, and what did Kirk do? He made it damned clear to Spock that those feelings were unacceptable, before turning things around and changing his mind.

_You’re tearing that man apart_ , Tralnor’s words, held more truth than ever.

  
  
  
Finished with the last of the bookkeeping from Trego Delta, Laura signed off on all the deposits, accounts payable, and inventory logs. MV Sweetness was the only one of AVDL’s ships that made a profit quarter after quarter. She was glad to send off another positive earnings report to the Big Boss. She gave her crew a small bonus from the money made selling Horse-laugh and another Seren captive.

Closed out of her computer, she popped her back, then sought out a cup of coffee. She let Signe the cook babble at her while the cream and sugar went into the bitter drink. Lips nearly on the mug, Morgana paged Laura. Daniel Shelley was on the horn.

“ _Dan_?” She was far more interested in her coffee than dealing with AVDL’s supreme overlord, plus she’d been looking forward to some time with Veddah.

He gave her one of those closed mouth smiles that spoke of idealized memories of better days. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Five years is a long time for nothing but phone calls.”

“Uh-huh.” She had a data padd up and running the most recent fuel ratios. She played around with numbers and started to calculate how much longer their current fuel supply would last and the costs involved for the next dilithium re-stock.

“Laura, are you listening?”

“What? I was playing around with the budget in my head.”

“I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed you, and I mean everything about you. Your angry badger outlook on the world, your brains, your sick sense of humor, I miss it all.” He wouldn’t let up with the mushy grin which translated into a painful yearning on his behalf. “I think I can make it so you can come home and people will leave you alone.”

“The closest I’ve got to a home these days is here on Sweetness. I’m not about to go back to living on Trego. I hate it there. It's humid, moldy, and full of shitty people. Trego Delta gave me Arik.” She’d always known Shelley was head-over-heels in love with her and seemed to accept it when she didn’t pay him any notice in the sex/romance department. He wasn’t attractive and couldn’t carry an interesting conversation with a bucket. His strength was that he had business acumen and a good nose for politics. She tolerated him as the Big Boss, mostly because she didn’t want the job for herself.

“I’d keep your secret, take it to my grave. I will protect you.”

“ _Secret_? Dan, I think you’ve lost the plot.” She thought about reaching out to AVDL’s Sargent at Arms and having her make sure Shelley was fit for his post.

“Being a psion won’t ruin you, I promise.”

“I’m _not_ a psion.” He’d latched onto that notion and not let up. Did she have to request copies of her entrance exam records to use as proof? “Not even a little bit. I’m good at reading human behavior, good at following my gut, that’s it.”

“I think you’d better take a look at what I’m sending you, Golden Girl. Let it sink in and call me back.” Softly, he said, “I’ll always be here for you.”

Confused, she stared at her inbox until Shelley’s message arrived. He’d attached some documents to a long-winded letter declaring his undying love for her and detailed the steps he’d follow to mask her “genetic fault” from the greater human supremacist movement. “What the fuck are you on about, Dan?”

Document number one was from the elementary school in Los Angeles she’d last attended before moving with her mother to ShiKahr. Typical standardized test bullshit was what it looked like until she came to a page offering the results from the PPAI, _Psiopsychological Assessment Inventory_. She didn’t remember taking this test when she was eight, but the scoring rubric placed her as a pre-telepathic mild clairvoyant, with an explanation that she’d likely become more developed as she got older and that she’d do well by getting some training. This information was not released to her parents.

Document number two was from Vulcan. It included the evidence that her results had been tampered with as to preclude her from enrolling in their schools. They hadn’t wanted her to master her embryonic psi abilities and show-up the native students.

Her first thought was to find Veddah.


	63. Chapter 63

The music rattled Kirk’s lungs in a direct playback to the few sporting events he’d attended as a Cadet. Watching and listening to this group was far different than Tralnor’s high school ensembles. This pep band or whatever it was called, danced, cheered, moved their horns around, in a choreography that made for genuine entertainment. They were fun to watch.

Tralnor got Sarah and Avery down front to help him show off his idea for a new dance routine. The three officers did their boogie down, and the student input came in.

“This is strange but oddly interesting.” Kuznetsov commented as the band repeated the newly integrated moves.

“From the drum break.” Tralnor counted them off followed by eight beats of the drums so they could set their instruments down on the ground. Jumping, ass-shaking, pretending to fly like a superhero because their full uniforms had capes, it would be crazy if it weren’t so damned organized.

In less than an hour, a new dance conceived, they replayed the song the moves went to before closing out the rehearsal with a couple of the school’s fight songs and a cheer. Some students came up to address the camera, mostly asking questions about when Tralnor would be home or haranguing him about wearing a rival university’s color blue. Soon there was only a core of section leaders and graduate students plus one other person hiding out near the door.

“T’Roah, what are you doing on campus?” Tralnor slipped over to his desk and quickly deposited his trumpet in its case. “Your student visa has been revoked. You shouldn’t even be on earth right now.”

“I heard you were directing today.” She looked a little rough, not the poised and clean-cut Vulcan she’d been before her massive cock-up at the music festival. “I must speak to you regarding my failing grade on the conducting final and ask that you allow me to repeat the exam. I have consulted the Turlock High School performance schedule, and I am available for both the Senior Ensemble and Pops concerts.”

“Go home, T’Roah.”

She went so far as to take a stack of paper scores from her bag, presenting them as if she expected him to smile and put them up on the refrigerator as a reward. “I have prepared thoroughly.”

“Against my judgement as your advisor and committee chair, the Dean of Music, to whom you appealed my recommendation of dropping you from the program, decided that my being on sabbatical this term precluded me from offering you a fair chance at evaluating your skills. This is regardless of THS staff and your fellow USC students reporting on your disastrous conducting exam.” He paused for her to acknowledge what he said. “You have been granted a do-over in the form of coming back in the fall to repeat this first year of the program, an offer that is far too generous in my mind.”

Her face tightened and her brow crept up. “You are simply angry that I embarrassed you at the festival and tarnished your reputation.”

“I have no emotion regarding you, T’Roah. You embarrassed yourself with your obstinate selfishness and what’s worse, you embarrassed your musicians. You nearly forfeited their chance to move on in the competition, taking from them the opportunity to earn accolades that they use to get noticed by collegiate music programs.”

The smugness fell from her features. “Does it not make more sense to let me resit the exam than have me retaking courses I have passed?”

“You need to return to Vulcan and spend a lot of time examining your motives for entering this specific profession. Should you decide to come back in the fall, Dr. Cortez will take you as her student.” A human might have crossed his arms to indicate he was getting annoyed at the intractable young woman.

“Dr. Tralnor, you are the reason I chose this program. I would not be comfortable with a _human_ as my main advisor.”

“You’ve made it clear that you want to do things your own way, to hell with what I have tried to teach you. Understand that I have fired you as my student. If you would rather not work with humans, you should not have come to this university.”

“You are Vulcan. I came here for you.” Maybe she thought repeating herself would make Tralnor change his mind. “I did not think I would experience such prejudice from one of my own people.”

“How many Vulcan students do I have? Eleven high schoolers who come down from the Bay Area two days a week, the seven currently in the USC marching band with three more in the concert band, two violin students, one trumpet student, and two in my film class. Ask any of them, ask any of my human students, if I’m a bigot and I think the answer you’ll get is that you are looking for excuses to lay your failure on instead of stepping up and taking responsibility for your own actions.”

“I did not infer that you are bigoted.” She tried to worm her way out of what she’d just said.

“I’m as Vulcan as you need me to be at any given moment. Throughout your tenure in the program, you have made it abundantly clear that you think my human genetics cloud my thinking and that my Clan background means that I am mentally unstable. Again and again, it was the _human_ members of the faculty who have come to your defense. They felt I was too harsh in wanting to let you go. They have a hard time accepting that the problem is you, not reactions to culture shock and a drastically different climate.”

T’Roah, much like she had in her festival hissy fit, stomped off.

“She’s really pissed.” One of the section leaders said.

Two smack-downs on the same day and Kirk felt a kinship with Tralnor. Leadership positions weren’t always friendly. Sometimes you had to do what was necessary instead of nice.

  
  
  


_Tick_. . .

People in the hall: worry.

 _Tick_. . .

Crawling around the end of the bed, knowing why the intruders are here: nervous guts-churning, skin crawling, nerves burning.

 _Tick_. . .

Strangers looking to kill, driven by a smoldering hatred, through the door: choking down burgeoning panic.

 _Tick_. . .

Reed knife gliding through warm flesh, the odor of hot rust, pain shouting into the air: fear, adrenaline.

 _Tick_. . .

“Mallia?”

 _Tick_. . .

Mollie leaned forward to catch the pendulum, securing it before getting to her feet, and placed the metronome back on its shelf. She felt the collected beads of perspiration on her lip and other artifacts of reviewing and categorizing the actions and emotions that killed a man. No doubt, the room smelled of the biochemical markers of those feelings of fight or flight. “Yes, Sir?”

“I was making my way to bed and heard Mr. Bergman.” Sarek sounded tired, like he’d pushed himself too hard in the preceding few days. “He was crying in his sleep.”

“Joe’s having a harder time with this than I am.”

“He does not have the mechanisms in place to address his conflict over taking a life.” He looked at the metronome for a second. “He needs the kind of assistance human practitioners cannot offer.”

“Is that what Livia said?” Her mother was the Healer who worked with Joe earlier in the day.

“It is what I have observed of his character. He has cognizance of the nature of pain and suffering that I have not seen in many people, Vulcans included. His bluster is his armor, but it cannot protect him right now.” This was Sarek’s way of saying he didn’t dislike Joe. “I believe Mr. Bergman is a good candidate to study the Tago t’Sochya. He is disciplined enough to have received the Mark he wears and would benefit from the additional structure the Rule of Peace will give to his emotions.”

“Someone is going to have to venture out and find him his own analogue metronome.” She thought about the endless hours she’d spent with hers, how in the MacCormack tradition of psionic training, it was used to develop a prompt and orderly thought process. Tonight, Mollie had gotten out the familiar old device for just that reason, tempo set, the time between beats was to lay out the events in the hotel room and the emotions she experienced, nothing pondered, event equals feeling. Later she’d tackle details like future decisions based on what she’d learned from herself.

“You both acted as we are training you, saving Mr. Bergman’s life, and most likely your own. You should not suffer for that.” He regarded her less the way a parent might a young child, more like he viewed her as a competent adult, and said, “Sleep well.”

  
  
  
Veddah, brought to the captain’s quarters, scrutinized the documents. He was unfamiliar with the PPAI test and didn’t know what the battery used to assess someone’s psi abilities. The pages from Vulcan, those were disconcerting in a way that made him start to question everything about the culture in which he’d been raised. Laura also asked that he read the message from Daniel Shelley.

She was on the bed, her knees tucked beneath her chin. “If Dan has these test results, he’s not smart enough to have gotten them on his own. Someone did it for him. This news won’t stay under wraps for long. He’s an idiot to think he can save me.”

“His plan is more ambitious than sound.”

“What I’m not understanding is why I haven’t gone completely fucking crazy. Untrained human psions who live to be as old as I am make up the lion’s share of the mentally ill homeless population in places like Los Angeles. Shouldn’t I be in a padded room somewhere arguing with the real voices in my head?” She looked over to him and held her hand out.

He joined her on the bed, inhaled her soft scent, and placed an arm around her. “I cannot speculate as to the status of your psionic abilities. However, we need to find a way to get you someplace safe.”

“There is no safe place when dealing with the AVDL.” She contemplated her toes for a moment. “I’m not afraid of going to prison, never have been. I didn’t care all that much that I’d be killed by other human supremacists behind bars. Their favorite way to silence psions is by repeatedly driving an icepick into your brain. I can’t be that blasé anymore. What happens to me matters now, because of you.”

He didn’t want to see her destroyed by an icepick or executed by any other means. No matter the horrible things she’d done, capital punishment was not the answer, be it vigilante justice or condoned by the courts. “I will do what I can.”

“Don’t have too much sympathy for the devil.”

  
  
  
Sha’leyen made the executive decision to offload her department’s curated collections. The storerooms were full to overflowing, and this would save a massive headache upon Enterprise’s return to earth. Starbase 21 agreed to disperse artifacts and data to the assigned archives as Starfleet directed. Entire palates were sent off, keeping her people busy for the time being.

Cross-checking lists and labels was left to her subordinates when Petty Officer Handler informed her she had a call waiting on the line in her office. She didn’t worry about the grit and dust adhering to her clothing and hair. She thought she’d see the face of the lieutenant in charge of the anthro archives over on the base. Zakhira greeted her instead. 

Formalities exchanged, Sha’leyen sat down. Her Teacher was again curly-haired, wild Belonite mane shining in the light. “There is no antidote for ketro’nistin. Should a Mair-rigolauya be exposed, the best you can do is isolate them from the person attempting to exploit their abilities.”

“Thank you for searching out that answer.” Sha’leyen wrapped her feelings of grim dread down tight. “Did you learn if mucosal or skin exposure is as, effective, as the injected form?”

“If that information ever existed, it is no longer extant.” Zakhira tucked her hair behind her pointed ears. “I spoke to my grandmother at length about the tavalik duv-tor because any mention of them has been sanitized from the public historical records held at Gol.”

“And they would never deign to set a Lyr Saan loose in the complete archives, they’d have to admit that they were hiding information.” Sha’leyen had never dealt with Golic aristocracy’s gatekeeping until now.

“Or it is entirely possible that your short encyclopedia from the Third Regents’ library is all the written record to have survived the wars and the successive purges of our once grotesque arsenal of terror weapons.”

“Coh’rinne sent the books with me, and for the longest time I never knew why. Perhaps she is, or was, a Far-seer?” She realized she didn’t know if the sister who’d saved her from certain death was still alive. Coh’rinne forced Sha’leyen to promise never to return or make contact with Belon, to move forward with a good life on Vulcan.

“Sha’leyen? Are you listening?”

“I apologize, T’Kehr. My mind is—She murdered my husband. As I lay bleeding on the floor of that root cellar, she seduced him and slit his throat from ear-to-ear, that’s how Coh’rinne got me away from him.” She shoved the memories away and drew her thoughts back to the topic at hand. “What did your grandmother have to say?”

“She witnessed the destruction of one when she was a teenager. It was handled by a squad of explosives specialists. No one touched it or got within two meters of it. They used a catch pole or something of that nature to put it in a containment wagon which was then taken to Lake Sashik Pla-yar-kur. The box and the wagon were shoved in whole. No one was hurt.”

Aquamarine Acid Lake was a six-acre geothermal hot spring that lived up to its name. Its deadly beauty made it a favorite place for disposing of criminal evidence and dead bodies. Corpses didn’t last a full day in the superheated not-quite-water.

“The second one she knows of, the thing inside the box escaped and possessed a local farmer. The rampage only stopped when the monster triggered a rockslide that soughed half a mountain over the top of itself.”

“There are ways of destroying them. That brings comfort.”

“The one from my childhood, she was taken down by three massive volleys of crossbow bolts. Energy weapons like phasers and disrupters only feed into it.”

 _We’ll remember that. No phasers_. The information was less than she’d hoped.

“You will tell me if you find it?”

“I have not said anything about finding one.”

“You did not have to. Be safe, my child.” Zakhira flashed the ta’al and had to cut the call so she could return to her work.


	64. Chapter 64

“You’re looking good, Sha’leyen. Give things another three or four weeks, so the swelling goes away completely, and we can think about scheduling the next surgery.” McCoy repositioned the sheet to cover her lower body.

“ _Dr. McCoy, Priority One transmission from Medical HQ_.” The disembodied voice of a staff member crackled over the exam cubicle’s intercom.

“Have a good rest of your day.”

“You as well, Leonard.”

He left the Lt. Commander to her own devices and withdrew into his office. Once he made it through the security protocols to accept the call, he expected the person on the other end to have given up and ended the contact.

“I think I’ve solved your problem, McCoy.” Aristotle Yamaguchi nodded as he said it. “My friend of a friend is coming through.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Ari. This is nigh miraculous news.” Sweeter words were never said. “It’ll get all of us out of this funk.”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. Enterprise is going to sit for at least a week, maybe two, before this plan comes into play. That’s just the nature of the beast.”

“The continued downtime will be frustrating, but if it springs us from the pound, it’ll be worth it.” McCoy felt like he might break into a dance like Tralnor’s college kids last night. “How’s this going to work?”

Yamaguchi sort of shrugged. “I don’t know any of the particulars, I didn’t ask. All I can tell you is you’re going to get a visit from Advanced Aerospace Research and Design.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were telling me to keep an eye out for the sugar plum fairy if that means we can have our lives back. Thank you, Ari.”

  
  
  
The Kirk Smirk was back, bringing with it the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Goddamn, Bones, your sick note, it worked, in a roundabout way.”

“Like I said, Ari’s an old friend of mine.” McCoy had felt lighter, walking the corridors to Jim’s office, a spring in his step. “Now all we’ve got to do is find a way to kill time between now and the arrival of this R and D bunch.”

“For tonight, according to the posted schedule, Dr. Tralnor is getting the gang together to go through a box of stuff from a friend of theirs. I don’t know what that entails, but whatever it is, it should be interesting.”

“He’s an _interesting_ fellow.” The doctor got up to leave. “I’ll keep you posted if Ari tells me anything else. If I don’t see you before then, and let’s be honest, I hope I don’t, I’ll meet up with you this evening. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and there will be another elephant dick moment.”

Jim snorted at the memory. “ _Elephant dick_. . .”

  
  
  
Spock checked the temperature gauge for the server room that kept Enterprise’s Science Division functioning. At ten-point-two degrees, it was on the lower end of the spectrum for the machines’ continued optimum operation. Starships were only as warm as they needed to be in the parts where those who lived and worked aboard them spent most of their time.

He took a long coat from a peg near the door and set off into the minor labyrinth. The warning from Block 32 had, according to the overnight technician, started going off at about 0440. It seemed like a small annoyance, so the tech hadn’t wanted to wake anyone up to check it out. Day shift techs and junior officers tried to figure it out, all of them hesitant to drag the Division head in for something that appeared simple.

Troubleshooting the issue from the main console in his lab had not alleviated the problem. One of his young officers, Lt. Atherton-Smyth VI, reckoned this was a residual effect from Laura’s sabotage. Spock hoped Billy the Sixth was wrong and that woman’s pernicious influence over Enterprise’s systems was through.

Block 32 appeared normal on three sides with the rear fourth showing signs of tampering. Someone hadn’t slid the access panel all the way home, missing the complete fit by two or three millimeters, so it hadn’t been clipped into place. He did not tolerate such sloppiness from his people, and Scotty’s personnel knew better than to leave so much as a paperclip unsecured. Stepping out of the room, he called up the logs of people who’d accessed the server room, going back six weeks, then twelve. He didn’t find any unknown names or serial numbers, instead he uncovered deleted entries that were overwritten.

This was not a legacy of Laura’s infiltration of the ship, she was too sophisticated, too smart to have left such an obvious trail of indiscretion behind. Spock kept digging, using this person’s assumption that deletion meant destruction against them. It did not take long to find a name: Lt. Commander Clint Holland of Security.

  
  
  
Unfamiliar with this man, Spock entered the officer into the personnel database and realized why Clint Holland was not a name he recognized. Mr. Holland was a construct. The server was interfered with by someone who did not exist.

“I don’t like that we can’t trust our own security people.” Captain Kirk hovered at the server room door. 

“It is most disconcerting, Captain.” Clint Holland, or electronic traces of him, were popping up all over the place, mostly concentrated in security and operations.

“And it would be too damned convenient for this to be Hillyard’s doing.” Kirk wanted to go in and see this server cube for himself. He pointed at the server room door. “I hope the Detective Sergeant finds something.”

“As do I.”

The conversation was at least flowing, if at a glacial pace. Spock wasn’t acting like he’d rather be breathing vacuum than sharing the same space with his captain. Kirk tried not to read too much into this, it wasn’t a thaw or a return to their old relationship. They mentally twiddled their thumbs until Sha’leyen emerged, clad in a crewman’s boiler suit and hauling what looked like a massive fishing tackle box with her.

“I’ve got two partials. They look human and like they were deposited by a male, based on the size. It won’t take me long to scan the prints and run them through SAFIS. Don’t be shocked if they turn out to belong to comp sci or engineering people.” She hefted her box onto a console so she could get out of the protective clothing.

“I won’t hold my breath.” Kirk said. “Was anything else of interest in there?”

“No blood, hair, fibers, footprints, Spock’s crew is fastidiously tidy. Unless there’s something else hidden in the electronic records, I’ve found all there is.” She emerged in her duty uniform. “As for something being physically altered in the server, I’m not familiar enough with the guts of these machines to say. Find me something to analyze, and I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Lt. Commander.”

“You’re welcome. Give me a couple of hours, and I should have an identity for you.” She draped the boiler suit around her neck like a scarf, picked up her box, and went off to bioarch.

“What next, Spock?” Kirk peered into the room, machine fans created a dull white roar.

“I have taken Block 32 out of use and will disassemble it, searching the hardware for signs of outside corruption. I will inform you of my findings.” The Vulcan put on a woolen great coat and plunged into the cold room.

“If he asks, let the Commander know I’ve returned to the bridge.” Kirk directed one of the young blue shirts nearby.

“Yes, Captain.”

  
  
  
Just to satisfy her own curiosity, Sha’leyen used her Met credentials to access Interpol’s AFIS database. Both prints were good lifts, and they scanned well enough to provide satisfactory ridge detail to find comparable entries in the computers. She’d still have to make the final call if the prints matched any of the electronic records.

While the machine did the grunt work for her, she got out her newest cross stitch project. The northern lights were coming together one bit of thread at a time. Blues, greens, and purples blended into a star field suspended above a dark mountainous landscape. It was a moody piece capturing a phenomenon she’d never seen in person but wanted to since hearing about it as a graduate student.

The computer chimed at her when the first search was done. Four sets of prints came back as possible matches. Scrutiny with an antique negative viewer gifted to her by her supervisor when she was a C-SOCS, let her carefully compare the records to the suspect prints. Some things were best left verified by the naked eye even in an age of supercomputers.

After careful comparison, she couldn’t find a match with anyone in the Starfleet system. She too tried to look up this Clint Holland, coming up as blank as Spock did. While she was in Interpol’s databases, she figured she may as well run the name through there. This time, the search yielded four cases, all linked to industrial espionage. Skimming those files, it was more evident now that this Holland character was just that. Industrial/corporate espionage, how many thousands of unique projects being worked on by the crew of the Enterprise would make pots of money in the private sector?

Her second print search pinged. Interpol's AFIS had eleven possible matches. In the third set, she found the likely culprit but checked them all anyway. Returning to the third candidate, she took the lift and the database print-out into the lab with the comparison microscope. She was going to compare glands, pores, any unique identifying feature to confirm the server room spy and Interpol entry was the same person.

The police database’s print was digital, clear, almost true to life. The lifts, being what they were, leftovers of phalanges in action, had varying degrees of distortion and smudging to work through based on the nature of finger pads. Superimposing the prints over one another, yes, it looked like they came from the same person.

  
  
  
Life in the regular lockup facility on Starbase 21 was tolerable. Kevin Radovitch sat in the dayroom with the other low-risk inmates, all of them sucked into the shitty soap opera playing on the vid screen. He wanted to change over to a program that had a modicum of intelligence, but no one here liked “boring” shows.

“Hey, Rado-lite.” A guard hollered from the charge desk. “Lawyer’s here.”

This was it, the termination from Garth, Schultz, and Daniels. He didn’t want to go through it in person. “Tell him to forward the files over to the public defenders office.”

“Uh-uh, you can tell him yourself. I’m not paid to be your Jeeves.” The guard waited for Radovitch to lallygag his way to the blast door used to keep Starbase 21’s degenerates cooped together.

“Hello, Kevin.” Ollie Schultz was waiting in a tiny meeting/interrogation room, open briefcase on the table, and a thin-lipped scowl on his face.

Radovitch didn’t say anything until the guards left the room and the lawyer engaged the white noise jammer that looked like a travel alarm clock. “What’s the occasion?”

“The proposed buyer, if I’d met with this individual in person, would have laughed me out of the room. You were referred to as, I quote, ‘low-ranking cannon fodder’ and its implied that you don’t know shit from shinola.”

“ _No_.” The incarcerated ensign gawked. “And you told her about Mr. Spock?”

“I did.” Ollie shook his head like he believed Radovitch was an idiot. “She already knew.”

“ _Not possible_.”

“Whoever she’s got feeding her intelligence about that ship, they’re ten steps ahead of you, kid. You’ve got to give me something that’s actually worthwhile because you’ve got two more hours left on your retainer and that’s it, I’m done with this donkey show.” The lawyer crossed his arms over his chest, almost daring Kevin to disclose something vital.

“Are you sure she wasn’t interested?” This hadn’t seemed like a possibility when he came up with the idea of selling classified information. He knew she had the money, multiple holds choked with diamonds meant one or two could come his way, right? She’d get solid facts on Enterprise, and he’d bankroll the defense he needed to get sent to a nuthouse for the duration of his sentence instead of doing hard time.

“So interested she hung up on me.” Ollie made like he was picking up the clock to kill the noisemaker.

He’d wanted to hold back on the gold nugget in his basket. “I’ve got something good.”

  
  
  
“Clint Holland is what is traditionally referred to as a punch-card phantom, in reference to the earliest days of earth’s computers, when they were programmed via lines of code on tagboard cards. He only exists as data.” Spock had come up to the bridge to give his report. “My inspection of the circuit boards inside of Block 32 did show where someone had inserted and removed a sniffer drive.”

Kirk thought that was just flipping dandy. “Do you have any idea how long this drive was siphoning off Enterprise’s information?”

“Yes, Captain.” Spock did that thing with his head where he half-cocked it to one side as if to think for a second and say something smarmy. “Clint Holland’s first deleted entry into the server room was four-point-two months ago, while the last entry was four weeks ago.”

“How did this server go a month without acting up and coming to your notice?” Kirk searched his friend’s eyes for the absent glow of fondness.

“The soldering used to affix the sniffer drive was of deficient quality, only available on the civilian market, and the residual alloy created a phenomenon called a tin whisker.” Spock stayed walled off, refusing to grant Kirk the response he’d sell his soul for.

“That’s what took out half the databanks on Starbase 2 and fried the Epsilon Aldean communications relay last year. Hard to believe an arcing filament of metal can cause so much damage.”

Sha’leyen stepped out of the turbolift looking exhausted but satisfied. “We’re the victims of private sector data pirating, and our fingerprints belong to a corpse.”


	65. Chapter 65

Sha’leyen took up a post at an auxiliary console and uploaded her results onto the main screen. As she explained the methods she used to find this information, she was aware of just how much the captain sought Spock’s approval. Every movement, word, Kirk hung on that man waiting for some spare morsel of affection to fall to the floor and roll his way.

“Tell the kind people at Interpol and the Met that we are very appreciative of them accommodating our off-brand use of their systems.” The charm offensive was returning, hinting to the bioarchaeologist that something was finally going right for Kirk.

“I will, Sir. The fingerprints belong to this man.” She brought up a photo of an average human dressed for a day of fly fishing. “Tobias Fleming disappeared from his vacation home in McCall, Idaho, six years ago. Most of his dismembered remains were scattered in a wheat farmer’s field near Pullman, Washington four years after he vanished. The only parts the authorities didn’t find were his hands and forearms. His death remains an open-unsolved homicide.”

Kirk wrinkled his lip. “These missing hands were utilized to make impressions or molds for criminals to wear over their own prints?”

“Exactly. I saw this when I was working a string of safe-deposit vault robberies as a street cop. A gang was knocking over a bank a week, hundreds, thousands of the same prints left behind. Four people all wore the same bootlegged prints. Our incognito suspect might not know that these prints have shown up at other crimes and that the Clint Holland moniker is tied to four similar cases of intellectual theft.”

“This isn’t the first time people have tried to steal secrets from the military.” Kirk looked at the print comparisons showing the clean prints from Mr. Fleming’s passport records and the imperfect copies.

“Indeed not, Captain.” Spock said.

“I’m sure these details have something to do with what’s gone on, though I can’t quite figure out how yet.” Sha’leyen proceeded. “Tobias Fleming was employed by Triophase Laboratories where I believe he worked on a project that was developing a medical nanobot treatment for schizoid affective disorder. Triophase’s publicly listed research is comparable to anything you’d find us doing here on Enterprise. The other information thefts that have these prints or the Clint Holland name associated were at private sector biotech firms.”

“We should find out more about Triophase’s business practices. This is about making money.” Kirk said. “And just like diamonds, money makes people dangerous.”

  
  
  
The crate had sat for days, shoved under his desk, out of sight and out of mind. Drawing it back out into the light, Tralnor reluctantly brought it over to the table he’d set at his and Spock’s usual spot. At least he didn’t have to face this task alone. He gave a simple explanation of what was going on. The audience looked a little uncomfortable at the thought of joining in on an exploration of a murder victim’s personal possessions.

The Vulcan-based contingent called in not from the Consolidated Terran School’s gym, but Arnold Palmer’s living room.

Buffalo Bill managed a wave. “I’ve been trying to brace myself all day, but this is going to suck.”

Arnold, more engaged than Tralnor had seen him in years said, “I agree, Buffalo Bill. This will not be a pleasant task.”

“I’m just trying not to think about it.” Nola had a wad of tissue paper in her hand on the ready.

“Let me call Sohja while we wait on California.” Tralnor punched up her mobile line. When her face appeared, he could see her apprehension at this task. She said she was within hours of Vulcan instead of joining their friends, thanks to a mechanical delay late last night.

The final connection opened, showing Mollie and Joe back on the sofa in the music room. Seeing that made Tralnor homesick for the Big House. These two didn’t wave, smile, or joke.

“The only thing I’ve done is make digital copies of a stack of photos Jock put in here. I’d like to show twelve of them.” Tralnor didn’t have the crate open yet, instead, he slipped a chit into a reader that projected the images onto the screen, beauty shots of Los Angeles.

Lid removed, Tralnor got out the ring box and pink paper.

“ _I can’t_.” Joe was on his feet, his hand held to his brow, shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”

As Joe fled, Mollie ran for the doorway. “Joe! Come back.”

He shouted a response that was too muffled to hear over the comm connection, but tonally it was unadulterated distress. Mollie called out, “Sarek, catch him before he runs out into the orchards.”

Persuaded or commanded to return to the music room, Joe stopped about a meter past the door, well behind the sofa, but in good visual and audio range. Mollie placed a hand on his shoulder, and Sarek stood in front of him, blocking the only way in or out.

“You have to finish what you started, Joe.” She said. “If you don’t face this down, if you don’t temper the turmoil attached to this, it will continue to own you.”

“Mr. Bergman, the deaths of your friends are not your fault.” Sarek looked at Joe in a way he rarely did other humans. There was respect behind those eyes. “Your. . . _guilt_ over what happened to them is misplaced.”

“I can’t get over it.” Joe said.

“You must.” Sarek replied. “Until that happens, you are compromised by emotion. That weakness is undermining you. The grief you still experience has mutated into a form of self-harm.”

“Let’s sit down and do this together.” Mollie nudged him back toward the sofa.

“Not all of you know this.” Joe stood before the camera looking to all like a condemned man waiting for the trap door to fall. “I’m the one who put Snarfle on that flight. I thought I was doing her a favor by using my frequent flyer points to get her on an earlier departure. I thought I was helping her spend more time with her baby before the wedding.”

“Please sit, Joe.” Mollie coaxed. “You’re unsteady on your feet.”

“Jock called me from the space station, letting me know he’d made it home for a few days. I told him he would find Snarfle up there and advised him to make amends with her.” He faltered and started sinking to the floor. Mollie and Sarek caught him and pulled him up on the couch.

Silent tears, no effort made to wipe them away, Joe stared ahead, utterly despondent. “The rational part of my brain knows I didn’t do anything wrong, but the Greek Chorus drowns it out. I can’t help but think that if I’d done something different that day that they’d both be alive, then I’m tortured by the thought that if I hadn’t tried to do Snarfle a favor, two-dozen children would have been murdered. I’m sorry.”

“Find your peace, Mr. Bergman.” Sarek said, stepping out of Livia’s way.

“We had a copy in our library down the hall.” She said to the ambassador and held up a well-worn book. Livia gave it over to Joe. “I’ve marked the passages dealing with loss and grief and a few others you’ll probably find helpful.”

“What is it?” Joe did not find a title on the spine or covers.

“A volume of correspondence between Kotekru Kaylara and Surak when he was a very young man, at the beginning of the journey that would lead him to the salvation of logic. These are discussions about processing death and addressing the absence of certain special people in their lives.” Mollie said. “Letter fifty-two and the responses are especially pertinent to what you’re going through.”

“We’ll see you later.” Livia joined Sarek in leaving the music room.

“You know I’m sorry. I never thought they’d be murdered or that acts of friendship could go so horribly wrong.” Joe clenched the book, defeated by his emotions and life.

“I don’t blame you, Joe.” Tralnor stated, hoping that one day his friend would free himself from the mental torture the murders lay upon him. “I never have.”

  
  
  
Failed marriage proposal explained, souvenirs set aside, Tralnor delved into a layer of the crate he’d not gotten to yet. A small lockbox, key taped to the lid, came out next. He knew exactly what was hidden in it. Open, he looked at the small note Jock had tucked inside. “It’s from Paulette. She wanted you to have these.”

Spock accepted the lockbox and lifted out a black velvet jewelry case. He couldn’t speak and took only the briefest of glances into the case before placing it on the table, closed, so the curious didn’t know what it was that left him reeling.

“Is it what I think it is?” Buffalo Bill pointed at the table.

The first officer nodded. Before Paulette Gordon had gone to university, before she was a Starfleet ensign sailing the stars, she’d been an Olympic gymnast and ballerina. He was now the keeper of this material part of her Olympic legacy. Golds and silvers, the achievements from a time she’d left behind because she was tired of being on display and living up to other people’s expectations, the medals were an acknowledgment to Spock of their shared backgrounds of forever failing to live up to over-the-top parental expectations, having been bipedal spectacles of curiosity held up to precision standards of perfection.

The next thing out of the crate, a stack of data chits. Each one had something written on it in permanent marker. _Photography 211, Xenoanth 430, English 340, Junior Trip to Seattle, C. Vokaya Stills, Paulette’s Postcard, Random Shit, Film 452_ , most of it was Jock’s undergrad coursework, hobbies, and entertainment. “ _The Falcon Queen_ , this one’s mine.”

“What is it, Tralnor?” Arnold asked. “A movie?”

“It’s more like an idea for one.” He held the chit up. “It probably got mixed up in his stuff when we were all moving out of the house. This was my final project for my upper division 2-D animation class. I wondered what happened to this.”

“Will you share it with us at a later time?” Again, Arnold was actively involved in the conversation.

“Absolutely. Do any of you know what Film 452 might be? It’s not a current course number, and I don’t recall what it may have been.” Tralnor picked up that chit, setting down the one that belonged to him.

There was head shaking and shrugging until Buffalo Bill slapped her thigh and said, “That was the old number for the documentary class. I remember because it was cross-listed in the visual anthropology requirements and the guy I was dating back then was vis-anth and bitched all the time about being stuck with a bunch of pretentious film students. . . Oh, shit.”

Buffalo Bill’s hands went over her mouth for a second before dropping into her lap. “Spock, I think it's about our cadet cruise. In fact, I’m sure that’s what it is, it has to be.”

“He did shoot a great deal of raw footage around that time.” Spock hadn’t taken his eyes off Paulette’s parting gift. “However, he did not tell us what he planned on doing with it.”

“I’m putting this right here. We’ll finish going through this crate, then we’ll see what’s on Film 452.” Graduation announcements, birthday cards, commendation letters, a felt USC pennant, Jock’s class ring, the necklace he always wore with the little pewter thistle pendant, postcards from every destination the band visited, a shot glass with an ancient quarter-dollar coin in it, a dented trombone mouthpiece, undergraduate diploma tucked safely in its leatherette holder, and a case-wrapped coffee table book, embossed with _Kaylara and Dolonn—May the Spirit of Love Dwell in Your Hearts_ across the front cover.

Tralnor stood the book up on the bottom edge, showing the screen before turning back to the rest of the room. He saw, looking at the closed book from the top, that Jock had placed documents in between the pages. “When we staged the wedding for the movie, we weren’t able to convince everyone that it wasn’t real. The photographer who put this together did an amazing job, insisted that her work was a wedding gift for the lovely couple, and sent all of us a copy of this album along with an assortment of matted prints. It turned into a memento of a fantastic weekend.”

“I have one of the portraits of our lovely couple on display in my office.” Nola said, clenching her hands. “I use it as a litmus test when I’m interviewing job candidates or meeting with suppliers and vendors for the first time. If I hear any complaints or snide comments about the marriage of Kaylara and Dolonn, movie characters mind you, then I know those are people I don’t want working for me or selling me anything.”

Tucked in the title page, written on Glenapp Castle stationery, was a note Jock wrote the day after the wedding. Tralnor read it out loud:

 _Where is the line between real and make-believe? How do we make that determination and stay sane? Yesterday was like living in a fairy tale, complete with the beautiful princess and her handsome prince, taking us away to a realm of supreme goodness. It was a fantasy within a fantasy_.

 _There was something else too, an undercurrent of melancholy, but I thought it was just me. Paulette mentioned it over breakfast this morning and said that she felt like there was disappointment that what happened wasn’t real. I felt like I had to tell her that it was real, real in that our fake ceremony brought hundreds of people together for a celebration of friendship, new and old_.

 _My gut feeling yesterday afternoon was, and I could be totally wrong here, that Mollie’s mum thinks she made some kind of mistake a long time ago. Spock thinks he’s walking into a mistake in the future and wants to stay with Mollie instead. Even I thought, damn, they’re good together, when we’re done here, let’s go to the registry office and get them to sign the ledger and make this a legit marriage_.

 _Standing up at the altar, playing the part of the best man, I had a surge of excitement, like at my older brother’s wedding. But there it was, in the air, almost like I could taste it, regret that the whole event was an act. Maybe that’s where I’m hanging up on this, about regret. I regret that I broke up with Tyla Becker because we supported different football teams and beat myself up for months. I’d chased off a great girl over Man United. I devastated her over something so stupid. After about a year, I had to let myself off the hook and learn from my fuck up_.

 _Sure there are things we all wish we’d done different in our lives, that’s part of the sentients’ condition. What I think is most important though is that we take those things we’d like to go back and redo and learn to forgive ourselves. Until we can do that, we’re stuck on a treadmill and going nowhere fast. Once we accept what we’ve done and forgiven ourselves, we need to take that a step further and learn to like ourselves_.

 _I don’t know that what I felt yesterday will ever be reconciled by those people. I hope they can do it. I hope they remember the love and adoration from yesterday, carry it with them, and use it to break away from their remorse. I hope they can come to like and even respect the people they become_.

 _Please be as forgiving of yourself as you are supportive of others_.


	66. Chapter 66

_In Search of Sweet Sixteen_ , Jock’s documentary, was about USC’s ROTC Cadets trying to find one last member for their squad so they could participate in their training cruise together instead of breaking up and filling in the gaps in other groups. That’s the way Buffalo Bill described it.

Kirk didn’t know as the film sounded all that interesting, but what the hell, it beat staring at the walls in his office. When Tralnor started the full-length trailer, the captain’s missives about the project disappeared. The usual title cards appeared, and a whimsical musical score started things off.

“I’m challenging you to the Kwul-tor t’Sau!” A young man shouts a challenge at Sohja and Mollie as they demonstrate their skill rapier/dagger fighting for the cadets. “And I choose you, Mallia Ah’delevna as my adversary!”

The voiceover was done by a rich-toned Scotsman, Jock Balloch, Kirk assumed: _That’s where it started, Todd Nolan, that moron picked a fight to the death with a couple of Vulcans and did it in such a way that he couldn’t back out even if he snapped out of his own stupidity long enough to realize what he’d done_.

Cadet Nolan, pulled aside by Sohja is told, “You will wish you had confronted me, as I would simply kill you, per my Clan’s traditional response to an Irrevocable Death Match. Mollie, as a child of Clan Lyr Saan, is allowed to express a modicum of compassion. However, she will visit death upon you in a different, altogether more devastating fashion.”

Bare knuckles, fists against unpadded flesh, Mollie approaches the fight like a mundane task on the day’s agenda. Cadet Nolan postures, snarls, and verbally abuses her for not acting human enough for his tastes. She’s doing a fair job at beating him, being stronger, more agile, and much less emotionally invested their battle.

It's evident to the audience that she’s holding back. Someone off to the side shouts that she’s a heavy-worlder, referring to Vulcan’s higher gravity and that he’s stupid for wanting to take her on. He knows he’s losing and screams before flinging himself against her, taking a huge bite out of her left shoulder. As he backs away, blood running down his chin, vicious grin on his face, she steps after him, curls the fingers on her right hand and swings the base of her palm against his left ear. Slow motion shows what Kirk would describe as a flick of her wrist, and Cadet Nolan is on the floor, shrieking in pain, grabbing his head.

Voiceover: _That’s when we learned about taflaya t’kaluk, an ancient Vulcan practice of breaking the bones in the middle ear only on one side, which leaves someone with enough balance issues that they can’t work or live in environments with artificial gravity, you know, places like starships. Mollie killed his livelihood and left him drummed out of Starfleet or stuck in a ground assignment for the rest of his career. Sohja was right_.

 _Nolan’s stunt left the squad down a person and put me, as squad leader, in a place where I needed to find someone to fill the hole_.

Jock approaches Mollie where she’s teaching an undergraduate math class. As students file out, he walks up to her. “I know you’ve got a ‘friend’ up at the Academy. Any chance you could do us a favor and get me in touch? We need to find our sixteenth person or command is going to scatter us to the wind.”

She shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m not involving him in this. It's bad enough I’ve got an infected human bite wound on my shoulder. I refuse to get me or my friend stuck in any of your machinations.”

“I just need a name.” He pleads.

“He’s a private man and would not appreciate me feeding him into this scheme. Find someone else to be your sweet sixteen.”

The fifteen remaining cadets meet in an empty classroom. Jock starts taking suggestions for fill-in candidates. There’s a guy from Clemson who’s got potential. A gal from Arizona State is loudly vetoed by Buffalo Bill and Paulette Gordon.

“We call Arizona State the human sinus for a reason.” Buffalo Bill said. “Twelve hours of her snoring makes the sanest person beg for death. I vote no. We’ll all be murderous or suicidal after twelve weeks of that.”

“All right.” Jock says. “My suggestion is a bit of a reach, and I don’t know as he’ll fit in very well with us, but it’s worth a shot. He’s a junior up at the Academy, but he’s also a grad student in the neuro-psi program here at ‘SC.”

Paulette nearly falls out of her desk. “Oh, oh, oh! I think I know who you’re talking about. It’s Mollie’s guy, _Mr. Lucky Drawers_! He automatically gets my vote, even if he is a grad student.”

“You know this person?” Jock looks like he’s onto important information.

“Know of him, don’t have a clue who he is though. It’s not like Mollie’s going to bring him round to meet the animals here at the petting zoo of the damned.” She can’t sit and springs to her feet. “She doesn’t take any shit, so I can tell you this, he’s quiet, calm, considerate, and tidy. He’ll have more than one specialty, and he’s got the best grades in the whole of the Academy. We’ll make each other look good.”

“But you don't have his name?”

“Uh-uh.” Paulette bounces on the balls of her feet.

Another cadet sounds doubtful. “I don’t know about this. A grad student? What if he turns out to be an obnoxious know-it-all?”

“What, like Nolan?” Someone scoffs.

The picture cuts away from the classroom, and Tralnor is shown doing the dishes. From the angle, Kirk can see just how long his hair was. Jock approaches his friend, saying, “Can you please take pity and give me his name?”

Doing a variation on the eyebrow thing, Tralnor shakes his head. “Look, this guy is my friend too and won’t appreciate me divulging any information.”

Jock wraps his arms around Tralnor. “If you won’t give me his name, how about I spend tonight screaming yours?”

Walking down a hall to a bedroom, Amelie Grace pops out behind them. “You two aren’t looking for a third wheel, are you?” She sheds her shirt and shoots her bra at them like a slingshot.

“Is the Space Pope reptilian?” Jock teases.

“What he said.” Tralnor replies.

Voiceover: _The inspiration came to me when, after a night of fun, I was waking up to catch the bus for my squad’s weekend training. Mollie had exacting tastes, and I thought I knew her type. At the time, California was home to five Vulcan undergraduate students, and I lived with four of them. I still didn’t have a name, but I knew how to look for him_.

Calls to people Jock knows at the Academy. Cadet A laughs and tells him that his squad would be better served by a plank of wood with a face drawn on it than the resident Vulcan. Cadet B balks and asks why Jock would want to bother with a soulless half-breed. Cadet C says he has no idea where to find Spock because he’s rarely in his room, try the library.

“If I had to deal with rotten fucks like you day-in and day-out, I too would hide in the library.” Jock makes contact with Spock’s roommate, Cadet D, is a greasy cretin.

“I’m just saying, as someone who’s lived with him, that you’re not going to like him. He’s a Vulcan for fuck’s sake. His motives are completely unintelligible. The dude has no sense of humor.”

“Are you trying to be funny?” Jock is disgusted. “Who says that about a classmate unless they’re jealous and have a dick the size of a chunk of baby corn?”

Cadet D furls his lip. “I’m not even a little jealous. I don’t expect someone like you to understand. After all, you’re not an Academy calibre mind.”

“Oh, I got into your precious Academy. I just didn’t want to spend four years suffering through a bunch of walking cum stains like you.” Jock cuts the connection.

Voiceover: _I got his name, but damned if I could nail his ass down and ask him to sub in with our squad. I think a big part of it was a reluctance to work with us because he didn’t want to deal with more prejudice from more Cadets than just the ones he was forced to cooperate with every day_.

Letters, emails, calls, trying to make contact through Academy professors and administrators, attempting to hunt him down on campus, finding only empty labs. Spock does an excellent job of making himself scarce. Always, Jock asks Spock to call him back. He asks the dickweed roommate to have Spock call him back. Radio silence.

Voiceover: _Down to the wire, we had one last chance, and I had to get sneaky. The whole squad had decided we could overlook the fact that this guy was a grad student. So, I made some calls_. . .

A rehearsal in a school gym for a big dance routine for _Celluloid Vokaya_. Sohja, Tralnor, and Joe are outlining to the gathering of one hundred plus people how they are going to shoot this scene when the cameras rolled for real. Mollie is telling Spock he needs to change his shirt because he’s going to get yelled at. Starfleet Science Blue is too much like UCLA’s blue for comfort.

The gym door bursts open and ten cadets come bounding in.

“Where the fuck have you guys been?” Joe hollers and throws his baseball cap at them. “Come on!”

“One of our freshmen was being a dumbshit.” Buffalo Bill tells him. “Got us stranded in traffic.”

As the USC cadets run to their respective spots in the dance grid, each one flies the V for Victory, and runs by Spock, shouting at him, “Fight On, Cadet!” Jock returns to the front of the room to give Spock a cardinal colored USC ROTC shirt.

A few shots of dancing cuts to a break where Jock corners Spock.“What ship are you doing your cruise on this summer?”

“My recommendation is—”

Jock shakes his head. “We’re not looking for suggestions. What ship are you on?”

“USS Enterprise.”

“Who’s the captain?” Jock starts to grin.

“Christopher Pike.” Spock replies, noticing something is up.

“Oi! Cadets!” Jock waves his squad over. “Enterprise, Captain Pike, we’re set.”

Paulette comes up, walking on her hands, “Better tell him, Jock.”

“Not ever having heard back from you and wanting to make sure that my squad stayed together, I went to Commander Rolf and asked if he’d assign you to us. I’d enquired around campus and knew you were a free agent. Whatever ship you were attached to, we’d follow.” Jock’s grin has faded. He braces for a rebuke.

“Hey, welcome to the family.” A young man on Jock’s left says.

Buffalo Bill claps and smiles. “We are so glad to have you, even if you are—”

Spock disengages from this seemingly friendly group of humans, waiting for a rude comment about his species.

“— _a graduate student_.” She finishes. “God, what did you think I was going to say?”

Paula, back on her feet, says, “You’re a Trojan, Mr. Lucky Drawers. That’s really all we need to know.”

“You know, it’s not too late to transfer.” Jock has compassion is in his tone and features, even the way he stands.

Still unsure about these people who’ve claimed him for the entire summer, Spock remains wary. “Transfer?”

“They treat you like shit up there.” Jock states the fact. “It’s not right.”

“Compared to the Academy, we get better grades, more first choice vessel assignments, and superior opportunities outside the classroom to engage in original research and participate in unique hands-on experiences.” Another cadet comments.

“Trojans look after their own.” Buffalo Bill assures.

“You’re coming with us tonight to the Crown and Roses so you can get to know the rest of the squad a little.” Baloch doesn’t give Spock a chance to object. “Thanks for being our Sweet Sixteen.”

The music changes to an upbeat rock-and-roll standard and rapid cuts of various people and action flash on the screen. It shows the buildup on the ROTC’s run to their summer cruise, mixed in with their civilian friends doing the marching band thing, _Celluloid Vokaya_ being shot, the squad on their shuttle to spacedock. Shots of Kirk’s silver lady.

“She’s so pretty.” Someone points out the window. “I can’t believe that’s our ship.”

“Dreams do come true.”

“I might just cry.”

“She’s a fanny wagon!” Paulette declares and pushes forward, her diminutive size preventing her from getting a good look from where she was at. On her head is a snorkeling mask. “Tell people you’re in Starfleet, and you’ll get laid by the loves a whoever in uniform contingent. Tell people you serve aboard the Enterprise and poof! It’s instantly time to get naked.”

Jock places a hand on Paulette’s shoulder. “Is that all you think about?”

Paulette makes a swimming motion. “This ship is the key to an after-hours odyssey of muff diving.”

One of the guys shakes his head. “Really, Pauli-girl?”

“Rug munching!” The gymnast-turned-scientist replies.

“Oh, lordy.” Buffalo Bill manages a grin.

“Carpet sharking. . .” Paulette laughs.

Spock doesn’t even cast a disapproving stare in her direction. The shuttle docks and Enterprise’s new temporary personnel pour out. Two neat lines of eight, an unamused lieutenant starts sniping orders at them. He stops in front of Paulette and questions her goggles and snorkel.

She’s forcing an artificial calm when she says, “I was under the impression that this ship has a swimming pool as part of the recreational facilities.”

“Your impression was wrong, Cadet Gordon. Get that stupid thing off your head.” The lieutenant grinds his molars.

“Yes, Sir.” She complies.

A quick montage of everyone getting settled into what winds up being co-ed quarters ends with someone telling a couple of dirty jokes. Only one person doesn’t laugh. The next cut is to Paulette and Spock, checking out their lab space.

She’s dancing to a tune only she hears. “I like it. This is going to be awesome.”

Spock makes no such declaration. “Something odd has occurred to me.”

“What’s that, Spock?” She bops her head and hums a short riff, still moving.

“By the time my fellow Academy students had known me for this long, they constantly tried to draw emotional reactions out of me as though it was a game and still do that into the present day.” The Vulcan speaks like he’s missing a part of the puzzle. “They want me to be something I am not.”

“Screw that noise.” She says. “You be you, baby. _You. Be. You_.”

Voiceover: _In Search of Sweet Sixteen is a documentary for Film 452 at the University of Southern California. Fight On_!

  
  
  
Trailer finished, Kirk was not only reminded of Kuznetsov’s comments from the other night but of how so many people treated his first officer poorly. Within the group of friends Spock shared with Tralnor, he’d never been viewed as an outsider or part of the Other. He was treated like a valued equal from the very beginning. Even Kirk couldn’t claim that.

The overhead lights went up, and the screen went back to the panelists. All those faces showed some amalgamation of survivor’s guilt/sadness/mourning. There was pain in the tears that were allowed to flow down certain individuals’ cheeks. They spoke of voices not heard, faces not seen, friendships not felt in years, and the void those people left upon their deaths. Kirk knew their plight.


	67. Chapter 67

Silvio had a pissy look on his face as he plowed right into Laura’s quarters. “It’s that fucking lawyer. Fifteen calls in the last half-hour. He’s saying that little Starfleet pussy has a real piece of info that is actually worth your while.”

She remained half-dressed, in the process of hooking her bra, and shook her head. “Is he legit this time?”

“Sincere is more like it. I don’t think he knows if what he’s peddling for the corpse-fucker is real or not. He just wants his money.” Silvio clicked his tongue. “We’re in long-haul transit right now. There’s not much to do. It’ll be fun just to chew someone a new one. I’d call him back.”

“I do like the prospect of some entertainment.” She nodded. “We can’t rely on Franklin to do all the heavy lifting.”

“And there’s only so many hours you can spend fucking your toy-boy before he’s got to crawl off and recharge. I thought those green-blooded weirdos were supposed to have more physical stamina than humans. What gives?”

Shirt pulled over her head and smoothed out around her upper body, she tied her hair back in a ponytail. “He puts his _all_ into pleasing me, and that takes a lot of energy.”

“I suppose you’re right. I can’t keep up with you in the sack most times we’re together.”

“Well, let me make this call, and I’ll be up on the bridge.” She wrapped her hair into a bun and poked it through with a bejeweled cloisonné stick.

“Go get ‘em, Captain.” Silvio finally crawled off to do his job.

A little bit of lip gloss and she sat at her desk. “Let’s see what you’ve got my little necrophile.”

Ollie Schultz tried to puff himself up a like a rooster but would never escape looking like a smarmy rat. “It's nice to see that you’re taking my client’s claims seriously.”

“Who said anything about being serious? My XO thinks I need some amusement and you’re it.” She refused to look the lawyer in the eye, purposely putting him out. “You’d best start trying to sell me something.”

“Well then,” Ollie grunted and arranged a few items on his desk. “I think we should discuss your method of payment before I disclose anything to you.”

“So, you didn’t learn anything from our last scrum?”

“Let’s start over, shall we?” He held his hands up as a showing of goodwill. “My client has authorized me to let go of this delicious morsel: there has been some corporate spying going on aboard the Enterprise. Military secrets are being stolen. _Does that whet your appetite_?”

She thought about the cigar box full of diamonds Daniel Shelley sent her with from Trego Delta. Money was not an issue for her. Hypothetically, she could throw some cash around on discretionary purchases. “So what? There are Starfleet spies at private companies stealing their secrets. Who gives a shit?”

“Come on, Captain. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Give me something to buy, not a premise. I thought defense lawyers were supposed to be persuasive?” She faked a yawn. “I’m rapidly losing interest in this, Mr. Schultz.”

“Pay me, and I’ll give you the names of the companies and what was stolen for whom.” He looked hopeful.

“Still don’t give a shit. Go peddle your wares to less discerning customers.”

“Goddamnit. Hold on.” He caved and thrust his chin out. “The information being stolen has to do with genetic manipulation of—”

“I was raised by one of the most celebrated geneticists in the Federation. I can one-thousand-percent tell you that I know more about this field than whoever created the data that was pilfered. _Not interested_.”

“Violet Crest Industries.” Frustration made him spew out more than he’d intended. “ _Shit_!”

Laura waved goodbye and hit the disconnect button. Dead-guy almost-diddler Radovitch was never going to see the outside of a prison for as long as he lived.

“Moron.” She said.

  
  
  
Their mothers decided that Spock and Mollie would celebrate their fourth birthdays together as they were born barely a month apart. Amanda and Livia spent the night before the party decorating T’Lessa’s main sitting room, doling out scented stickers, candies, and favors into brightly colored kraft paper bags, and preparing dozens of cupcakes with frosting and sprinkles. Balloons, streamers, confetti, the women could not have done better as professional set dressers.

Mollie remembered waking up that morning, tucked into T’Lal and Justin’s guest bed with Spock and Tralnor. She wanted to eat breakfast and spend the day in her grandmother’s back garden, looking for barkbugs and tiny ecru lizards hiding in the shade cast by statuary and boulders. It wasn’t Vulcan tradition to celebrate birthdays the way humans did. Her mother and Lady Amanda were far more excited than their children.

Livia had ordered Mollie an emerald green chiffon dress, accented in satin, and embellished with glittery sequins. The garment came all the way from a specialty tailor's shop in Los Angeles. In putting it on to get ready for the party, Mollie was aware this was the first time she’d worn something so exclusively human. Hair half-ponytailed and curled into ringlets, she put on strange white socks with lace on the cuffs and a pair of shiny mary-janes with hard heels that clacked as she walked.

When it was time to go, Spock came out of the guest room in a blazer, button-down, and slacks. He didn’t object because he wanted to please his mother. Tralnor was not subject to these wardrobe changes, but then, he was still a toddler.

On the ride over to T’Lessa’s, the adults talked about how the only reason Amanda and Livia pulled this off was that Sarek was off-world for work. Spock’s father would not approve of the sentimentality and resources invested into what he and the rest of his society considered just another day, save for specific years when a child was expected to meet certain cultural and developmental milestones.

Other children at the party, mostly offspring of Livia and T’Lal’s human VSA coworkers, started arriving as their aircar descended to drop the special boy and girl off at their first real birthday party. Mollie thought the noise was first to hit her followed by the swirling colors of child-friendly decor. Human children ran and screamed, forcing air through plastic tubes that made high-pitched squeaks and squeals. Spock would tell her years later that the cloying odors of refined sugar and vanilla overwhelmed his nose and the directionless energy expended by the young party-goers caused his pulse to spike.

Aliens at their own event, Spock and Mollie were carried along by kids well-versed in the ritual and pomp of birthdays. Snacks, vegetarian pigs-in-a-blanket and potato chips went over well with the guests, even if the half-Vulcan boy and Lyr Saan girl recoiled from the flavors. No, catsup didn’t make the food better.

Hair pulling, toy snatching, name-calling, the invited kids became louder and more belligerent until organized games started. Pin the Tail on the Donkey failed to impress and Chinese Whispers wasn’t fun when the person at the end of the line could clearly hear the original phrase before it was passed through the ears and mouths of several others. Apple bobbing was an exercise in terror. Voluntarily sinking one’s head into a large basin of cold water in an attempt to bite a piece of fruit was too close to purposely drowning to offer any fun. Unless directly asked or told to participate, Spock and Mollie stood off to the side and let the rabble follow a pre-prepared behavior rubric.

Neither of them had paid any attention to the table accumulating wrapped boxes until all the kids were told to sit in a circle on the floor. Amanda announced they’d start by opening gifts from their family members. The human children were disappointed to see so many books, models, and wall-hangings instead of toys they could play with too. Spock unwrapped an antique brass telescope that had belonged to Livia and Justin’s great grandfather. He thanked the MacCormacks, saying he wanted to examine the heavens with it.

Amanda set a large box on Mollie’s lap. The woman’s smile brightened her already luminous demeanor. “I think you’re really going to love this, Mollie. It belonged to me, and before that to my mother and grandmother. You’re the closest I’ll ever get to having a daughter, so. . . Go on, open it.”

She tore at the paper as directed, admittedly curious as to what the box contained. Maybe this was a telescope too? Removing the lid and pulling out crumpled wads of tissue paper, she came upon a cache of tiny clothes, too small to fit even a newborn baby. A dress, like the one she was wearing, was joined by meditation robes, a uniform for the same school Mollie attended, and ceremonial robes decorated with jewels.

Spock’s mother, her anticipation palpable, held her hands close to her mouth. “I made those just for you. Keep digging.”

More paper and her hand brushed into something that felt like hair. She followed Amanda’s instruction and emptied the box. Mollie held the object at arm’s length and stared at it, unsure exactly what it was. This facsimile of a person had movable limbs, dark pig-tail braids, blinking blue eyes, and rounded ears. It wore the same tights, leotard, tutu, and toe shoes Mollie did at her parentally mandated dance classes.

One of the kids in attendance said, “ _She’s so stupid. She doesn’t know what a doll is_.”

Human children laughed. “Yeah, you play with dolls, Silly.”

Maybe it was a votive offering for her to take along the next time she went to Lyr Saan City and visited Queen Kaylara’s Temple? It might also be a household god, like the descendants of Vulcan’s original human inhabitants still kept on display in their homes to honor the memories of their Terran ancestors.

“Aren’t you going to play with it?” Another little girl asked directly before declaring, “You’re weird.”

“Camilla!” An embarrassed mom chided.

“Thank you for the gift, Lady Amanda.” Mollie broke her visual analysis of the 45-centimeter tall figure. “What does it mean?”

The light extinguished in Amanda’s eyes, quickly replaced by tears that threatened to burn hot lines down her face. She looked to Mollie’s mother and Uncle Justin. “We did the right thing, didn’t we. . . but they’re not really _human_ , are they?”

“No, they’re not.” Livia said. “They never can be.”

  
  
  
Mollie emerged from the memory of the birthday party when her mother shook her back into awareness of her real surroundings. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the music room last night after Jock’s trailer led into a two-hour-long conversation on the nature and practice of self-forgiveness.

“Are you coming down for breakfast?” Livia wanted to keep the mood light. “Justin is making Grandma Nora’s huckleberry waffles.”

“Have the police released my house?” She couldn’t think about food, even when her very favorite was on the menu. “I need to get a few things.”

“Make me a list. I’ll use my key.”

Hesitating, Mollie said, “It was Amanda’s doll that made me realize that I could never really fit in here on earth. I’ve tried, I have. I think I’m coming to the point where I can take my acceptance of that fact and finally let myself off the hook about not trying to be someone or something else than what I am.”

“That doll got Amanda and I to come to a profound understanding and accept you both as you were.” Livia perched on the sofa’s arm. “You came from our wombs, but you were children of T’Kahsi.”

“I want to go to LA to get the doll and some of my clothes. I’m in Grandma Nora’s knickers right now and need my own.” Mollie moved to an upright position, her back protesting that she’d spent so many hours sprawled on the old piece of furniture. “I have to take a shower before we go.”

“Mallia, you need to stay here.” The mom voice was coming out.

“There’s something else I have to get, but it's in my safe-deposit box. The bank won’t let you in.” She had to grab it while she was thinking about it. “They have a retina scanner along with the keys.”

“Is it something so important that it can’t wait for a few days?”

“Given the volatile state of the AVDL, what’s going on out on the USS Enterprise, and the hunt for a monster in a box, I don’t know if I have a few days.” Mollie tossed her long braid back over her shoulder.

“You’re not safe in that city.” Livia conceded that she would take Mollie south. “Before we do anything, you’re having breakfast whether you want to or not. Then, we’re going to ask Justin and Sarek to come with us.”

  
  
  
The wedding album was left out in Rec Room 2 for people to look at. Soon enough, during a lunch break, Kirk and Bones sat down with it to examine the photos. “I’d have been fooled if I were the photographer. This all looks real enough to me.”

“It’s an Oscar-worthy performance.” Bones said, flipping another page, stopping at one of the royal couple silhouetted against a sunset. “But the friendship is genuine. These kids really did like one another, and the ones that are left still do.”

Kirk let a finger touch an image of Mollie. “Dr. Tralnor says that she’s my biggest cheerleader.”

“ _Does he now_?” This was news to the doctor. His blue eyes bugged out for a twitch.

“Yeah.” He lowered his voice, so it didn’t carry beyond McCoy’s range of hearing. “She wants him to find romantic love.”

“Jim, that’s—”

“ _Captain Kirk to the bridge. Coded transmission incoming. Captain to the bridge_.” Uhura’s voice cut through the air over the PA.

“Gotta run, Bones.” He pointed to the book. “Keep reading and tell me how it ends.”

  
  
  
The words Violet Crest Industries crept through Jim’s head. He’d never heard of the firm, Hillyard didn’t have any information on them, and his searches in Enterprise’s systems turned up nothing. This most recent recording from the fugitive captain gave him the sense that Laura did indeed retain some sliver of human decency. _I’m going to guess that Radovitch is the person who stuffed that sniffer in Spock’s server room_. He was likely provided the alias seen in the logs and the dead man’s fingerprints. He’d run this theory past Sha’leyen and Spock, fairly confident they’d agree.

“Incoming transmission from Starfleet Station in ShiKahr, Captain.” Uhura pulled him out of the train of thought Laura sent him on.

“Put it through.” Why ask who was calling when the surprise might give him a good jump scare to get his heart pumping.

“Captain Kirk.”

“ _Billie_.” He said before dropping the overly familiar tone just in case this was a formal visit instead of a chance to catch up. “Captain Cody, how may I be of assistance to you?”

She always sounded like she should be at the beach working on her tan or bouncing from one Hollywood boutique to the next. “This is, basically, a fair warning call. I just got off the box with Advanced Aerospace Research and Design. It looks like we’ll be seeing one another in person in the very near future.”

 _You’re part of my sick note_ , he thought. _This should be fun._ “I can’t wait.”

“So, I can’t divulge much about what’s going on, other than to let you know I’ve been involved with this Advanced Aerospace project for a few months now. We’ll just say that Wild West Show is a testbed for more than just my psych research and that she lives up to her nickname.” Billie smiled. “You know, I’d forgotten how cute you are when you grin like that.”

He felt Uhura rolling her eyes at the exchange. “Enterprise looks forward to having you, Captain.”


	68. Chapter 68

Spock and Sha’leyen left Kirk’s office after the update on Radovitch via Laura Hillyard. They were going to the first officer’s lab to examine the guts of the tampered server for traces of biological contaminants. A single flake of skin would nail that sicko to an infernal prison sentence on top of the one he’d serve for the grave robbing.

(I am going to call Sohja. She can give us more about the businesses involved in this intellectual theft.) Spock wanted to nail her down before she left on the next leg of the search for the tavalik duv-tor.

(That’s a great idea, and if she doesn’t know the answers, she’s got easy access to people who do.) Sha’leyen liked this plan.

The circuit boards from Block 32 were evenly set out on a table, plenty of space left on the end for Sha’leyen to put her forensics case. She zipped into her boiler suit, tied on a surgical mask, and put on a pair of the heavy-duty nitrile gloves she preferred for this kind of work.

(I have placed the boards most likely to contain evidence closest to you.) Spock took a seat at a terminal and logged in.

(Thank you.) Magnifying glass out, she’d start the low-tech, old-fashioned way. If she found something of interest, then the bigger guns might come out. (Spock, to get to the board the perpetrator installed the sniffer on, do other boards have to be removed, or is it readily accessible?)

Beneath her gloved fingers, the surfaces of these boards were textured with both inlaid metal and plastic components along with dabs of solder that joined processors, power supplies, and other embedded elements together. Some of the solder was sharp enough to snag her encased hands. She insisted on using the same kind of gloves worn by pathologists, even if bosses squawked about the price. This way she wasn’t cutting herself on artifacts that might contain Kevin Radovitch’s DNA. Soft, latex fingerprints wouldn’t hold up to much in terms of rough textures.

(Two boards adjacent to the altered one must be removed on each side to get one's hands comfortably into the space.) He came up beside her, pointed them out in ascending order, and stepped back.

She got out numbered markers, assigned one to each board, and started out by taking photographs. (I’ve got this if you want to reach out to Sohja right now.)

  
  
  
Sohja was home on Vulcan for two days, perhaps three. Spock got the captain in on the discussion with her in case Kirk picked up on something about the people in charge of these businesses that jumped out at him that did not register to the non-humans.

“Triophase Laboratories is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Violet Crest Industries.” Sohja had a series of screens banked on her desk. She was talking to them from her Companies House office in ShiKahr. People, mostly of the human persuasion, walked up and down the hall behind her as seen through the glass doors and walls of the Vulcan headquarters. Spock imagined all the glass was there to represent the federal organization’s transparency in business issues it dealt with.

“Triophase bumps off their own Clint Howard and uses his identifying attributes to steal information for the parent company?” Kirk mused aloud.

“That is a likely scenario.” Sohja confirmed. “These other cases Sha’leyen discovered are all against other companies that Violet Crest was in direct competition with or had failed to buy out. All but one have since gone under, most likely because Violet Crest beat them to the patents, copyrights, and trademarks on what was stolen. This espionage served a dual purpose, financial gain via new products and the demise of challengers within the same biotech fields.”

“Taking the details we know, what can we extrapolate about the theft from Enterprise? They can’t buy us out or drive us into administration.” The captain drummed his fingers on the center seat’s console. “As of this moment, according to Captain Hillyard, Radovitch is broke and desperate for an infusion of cash to cover his legal bills. If he’s the one who jacked that server, and I’d wager it's him, the acts went down weeks before his malfeasance on Melbek III. He still had access to his father’s fortune and was looking to land on a half-a-billion credit trust fund when he turned twenty-five. What’s in it for him to steal secrets for Violet Crest?”

“Perhaps he wanted to screw over his father for the emotional gain?” Sohja, working for as many years as she had amongst people Spock heard referred to as Dude-Bros, kept to an approachable vernacular. She was excellent at gauging humans and their behavior, interpreting best how to keep them engaged and comfortable with her. “Only recently has his motivation turned toward monetary compensation.”

“Are there any open investigations into Violet Crests’ improprieties?” Spock’s mind went down a path questioning what became of the money Radovitch was paid for the sniffer drive. “Is it possible for you to check Kevin Radovitch’s investment portfolio?”

“Theoretically.” She said. “But I am restricted to public records.”

“It’s a start.” The captain thanked her for her insights.

“Should you need anything else, Mr. Spock knows how to find me.”

“One more thing, and you can tell me to shove off if I’m out of line.” Kirk leaned into this question. “What does your name mean? I thought all Vulcan women had T-apostrophe names until very recently.”

“Sohja is a variation of sochya, the Golic word for peace.”

Spock remembered asking her why she had a boy’s name when they first met as young children. She’d shut him down in her trademark scathing style, informing him that it was none of his damned business what her parents chose to call her and how they’d come to that decision.

“I appreciate your indulgence of my curiosity.” Kirk satisfied that itch to figure everything out that made him pause and question the state of the universe, at least momentarily. It was his sense of not wanting to stop finding answers or inventing new inquiries as a way of avoiding stagnation that made the solid basis of his superior tenure as Enterprise’s leading man. That was one of the traits that initially drew Spock to him.

  
  
  
“ _That’s it, come to me_.” Sha’leyen talked to herself as she flicked on her hand-held blacklight and waved it over the boards she’d sprayed down with a fine mist of a chemical called dolumiol. Her eyes picked up a few weak outlines of what might be biological fluid. Ordering the overhead lights out, she ran the blacklight again. This time, the proteins in suspect fluids fluoresced in a palette of colors that reminded her of her aurora cross stitch.

Dolumiol was explicitly formulated to not break down the DNA in samples. She collected every little speck of organic material she could find on any of the boards. Thanks to Spock’s relentless record-keeping, she had accurate documentation of the people who had access to the server room going back his entire tenure on the ship. If there was a person who wasn’t supposed to be there, she’d know soon enough.

Potential genetic material excised and catalogued, she broke out another spray-on formula designed to make latent fingerprint visible to the naked eye. She treated all twelve boards and snapped photos of every bit of the hundreds of prints and smudges. She’d have the Starfleet and Interpol databases crunching for the next eighteen hours.

  
  
  
All the lights were on, and Veddah was propped up against a pile of pillows so he could try this from a seated position. Fully supine, he’d nearly panicked. Arms around her back, he buried his face in the crook of her neck where it met with her clavicle. It took heavy concentration, but he kept his breathing steady and emotions in check.

“Are you okay?” She spoke softly, working to stay calm.

“ _Yes_.” He tensed and swallowed hard. She’d insisted they keep their clothes on for the time being, so they were forced to focus on the mental rather than the physical effects of her straddling him. He was the one who’d wanted to try this, to give his mind an example of similar corporeal sensations minus the terror and violation, as the framework for further healing.

She tilted his head back so she could see his face. His breath hitched, and she made a shushing sound. “This won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you, Veddah.”

He let himself lean further into the pillows while she placed her palms on his cheeks. Eyes half-closed, he met with the enchanting approval she broadcast to him. They held one another and let the minutes pass, their comfort with their current position growing.

Pose held until he brought his hands off Laura’s back and let his fingertips explore beneath the front hem of her shirt, he was willing to see if this reorientation of sensation and emotional response played over previous experience.

The moment shriveled when she bobbed her head forward. “Shit, Silvio’s on the warpath and coming right for us—”

“For fuck’s sake, Captain.” Silvio feigned covering his eyes as he burst into her quarters. “Are you ever not screwing your _slave_?”

The word, slave, dripped with vitriol and Silvio’s murderous gaze fixed on Veddah. He turned his head, so he didn’t have to see her first officer’s deepening desire to harm him.

“That’s right, look away you skanky little fuck doll.” Silvio remained fixed until his captain addressed him.

“It’s 2245, I’m not on duty, and you’re what, sniffing around to get laid? Is that it?” She pulled a blanket over Veddah’s groin to save him from being seen with an erection straining against his pajama bottoms as she got up and faced off against the interloper.

Silvio made a noise somewhere between a snort and a harrumph, expressing his disdain without words.

“If you’re just here to try and swing your dick around, fuck off and leave me alone.”

“What happened to _us_?” Silvio’s tried to sound hardened, but his voice betrayed his feelings at being so effectively dismissed from Laura’s bed.

“ _Excuse me_?”

Veddah repositioned his head so he might see what was going on. Silvio had come in, rage simmering beneath the surface. Laura’s mind began channeling her thoughts on previous intimate encounters with this man and started to use the anger her subordinate was building in her to take him down.

“ _I should be in your bed, not that wretched thing_.”

“Silvio, you’re just a guy I work with, someone I fuck when the mood strikes me. I know I’ve never given you the impression that I want more than that. You don’t seriously believe that I’m your girlfriend, do you? I thought you were smarter than that.” She shook her head in dismissal. “Find someone else for sex. Half the engineers would gang bang you right now if you walked in and showed some interest.”

Pain played across the big man’s face. “ _Just a guy_?”

“I like working with you, but sex doesn’t mean anything. We’re using one another to get off.”

“And now you’re using that creature instead?” His jaw clenched, and the muscles in his face twitched.

“You’re my first officer, a respected member of my crew. I’m not looking for a relationship with you or anyone.” It wasn’t like she could stand there and tell him she was off the market because she’d gotten married. Her hands went to her hips. “That’s just the way it is.”

“You bitch!” Silvio made a fist.

She stood her ground. “You’re being an ass. Enjoy a couple of nights in the brig, and once you’ve cooled off, you can get back to work.”

He swung, hitting the bulkhead millimeters in front of her face.

“You’re going to regret that.” She said.

Silvio grabbed her by the front of her shirt and tore it open from the neck down. She used the butt of her hand to pop him hard in the left eye, snagged his belt, and drove her knee into his crotch. Crying in agony, distracted by the pain, he swatted at her midsection, caught her in the thigh, and brought her down hard. Winded she forced herself up and tried to defend herself. Silvio, ready to strike again, didn’t stand a chance when Veddah shot out of bed and landed the first in a series of bone-bruising punches.

(Stop! You’re going to kill him.) Laura tried to drag Veddah off Silvio, but she wasn’t strong enough to take on an angry Vulcan.

As he landed one more blow to the human’s ribs, she activated a button on her wrist fob. The Sentinel slave beacon launched him into a state of unconsciousness lasting nearly five hours.

  
  
  
(I’m sorry I had to zap you.)

Veddah woke up expecting he’d be naked and chained up again. He was still in Laura’s bed, his head in her lap. (And Silvio?)

(When Doc Hoskins releases him from sick bay, he’s got three long days to sit in a cell and think about how stupid he’s been.) She brushed his hair out of his eyes. He’d had an appointment with Seren’s quartermaster to get a haircut the day the ship went down. It seemed appropriate to remain non-regulation as this living nightmare continued to play out.

(I won’t let you have that kind of blood on your hands.)

(He wanted to _hurt_ you.) Veddah sat up, head still woozy from the shock, and let her hold him. (I would not let that happen.)

(Killing him. . . Veddah, _I’m not worth it_.)

  
  
  
Morgana’s voice pulled Laura from her sleep not thirty minutes after she finally passed out from a night of dealing with the men in her life. She got up and punched the acknowledge button on her desk comm. “What’s so important that you can’t handle it yourself? You know I had a rough night.”

“You need to answer this call, captain. I don’t know how else to put it.” Morgana, the most competent of Laura’s bridge crew, rarely passed something like this on. Ex-Starfleet, kicked out for her overtly human-centric outlook, if she said she wasn’t up to the task, she meant it.

“Fine, patch it through.” Laura waited for the blinking light that told her the transfer was made, and she connected. “Who the fuck are you?”

A petite, dark-haired woman clad in jail garb let out an impatient huff. “Laura Hillyard, I presume?”

“Whoever you are, I’m not interested in playing your little games.” Laura hung up and crawled back into bed. Mentally, she slipped into the bond and soaked up Veddah’s desire to protect her from those who wished her harm.

(Is something wrong?) Veddah placed an arm around her.

A glance back at the desk and she replied, (Yes. I don’t know what it is yet, but whoever that was, she’s out to do as much damage as she can.)

“CommSys, Captain Hillyard to Morgana.” She tried the not always functional computer voice commands.

“Morgana here. What can I do for you?”

“Did you catch the name of the jailbird who tried to call?”

Morgana checked the log and confirmed. “I did. She was routed to us through Chairman Shelley’s office.”

“That’s just lovely.” Laura commented, pissed that Dan continued to meddle.

“She’s an LAPD detective on suspension for setting a cell of AVDL assassins loose on someone called Mallia Ah’delevna.” Morgana didn’t sound impressed.

Laura did a double-take. “Well, this is an interesting development.”

“And her name is Zadie Pambakian.”


	69. Chapter 69

“Mr. Spock, before I say anything more, I’m ordering you to stay where you are and hear me out.” Kirk hadn’t wanted to put the Vulcan in this situation, but at this point, he didn’t feel like he had much choice.

“Sir?” He cocked his head and gave a slight lift of a brow.

“I miss you.”

Spock’s face showed nothing. “May I be dismissed, Sir? I must return to my work.”

“I’m—Look, I’m just trying to say that I’m—Forget it.” Flustered and tongue-tied, he dispatched his first officer.

The office door whooshed open. Kirk stared down at his desk, so he didn’t have to see Spock’s back disappearing into the hall.

The words were faint, but there nonetheless. “As I miss you.”

He looked up to see the door closing, the speaker of such hope Kirk’s heart could not contain it all was gone.

  
  
  
The house was more like a tomb than a home, a shrine to a life Mollie tried to live and ultimately failed at. Visible smoke damage was negligible, but the acrid stench of burnt plastic and insulation reeked. She’d need a troop of professional cleaners to come through if she ever wanted to inhabit this structure again. The men stayed on point, looking for trouble while she and her mother raided the closets.

The doll and her intricate clothing were on display in a lit curio cabinet that took up most of one wall in her sitting room. Mollie kept her dressed in the ceremonial robes since it was the most detailed piece of the wardrobe. The doll would make the trip to Turlock sitting in Mollie’s lap.

“My wife was distressed when she told me that you asked her what the doll meant.” Sarek stood near the front window.

“I didn’t intend to upset Lady Amanda.” She clearly recalled the hurt and betrayal as seen in the woman’s face.

“It was a hard lesson, but one she needed to learn.”

Cabinet door open, Mollie turned to face him. “I think that’s rather unfair to say.”

“In what way?” Of course, he’d challenge her. It was in his blood to debate anyone or anything that didn’t cow to his line of thought.

“I’m the alien wearing a human suit. I’m the one who doesn’t meet earth’s expectations. I didn’t know this figure was a toy.” Mollie reached in and removed the doll from its stand.

“You are Lyr Saan, and that supersedes your physical appearance. My wife knew that and tried to treat you as something you are not. It should not have surprised her to have gotten a Vulcan reaction from a Vulcan child.” Sarek regarded the doll skeptically. “I still do not know what meaning that object holds.”

“I’ve had years to think about it, and it’s taken me well into adulthood to figure it out.” She walked over to the ambassador and handed the doll off to him. “It’s a symbol of her childhood, a thing and time in her life that she cherishes. She regarded me highly enough to try and share that experience in hopes that I would build the same kinds of memories that mean so much to her. I was not the right person for such a profound gift. I’ve even tried to return it to her, but Amanda won’t take it to pass on to someone more deserving.”

They stared at one another for a moment, and she went back to the cabinet to lock it up. “After all of this is over, I’m going to go home for a while. I might not look like everyone else, but at least I’m comfortable there and not existing from day to day mired in a chasm of human disappointment in my inability to even pretend to be one of them. I know what I’m up against as a Lyr Saan in ShiKahr, and that discrimination is just as unfounded and more harshly acted upon than what I face here on earth, but it has a basis rooted in historical fact rather than pure histrionics.”

Justin and Livia went from room to room checking to see if anything had been disturbed besides the torched garage. He was talking about the drawbacks of automated surveillance systems. Mollie and Sarek let them pass by the sitting room before picking up their conversation.

“What does this figurine mean to you?” He gave the doll back to her.

She held it out like she did that day at the party. Whatever she said would eventually make it back to Amanda. Mollie didn’t want to cause that lovely woman any more grief. She wanted to say that it reminded her of the hollowness she felt when spending so much time amongst these people who shared the same branch on the humanoid evolutionary cladogram. She wanted to say that it caused her to think about permanently returning to a planet her species of origin insisted was hostile toward humans. “I haven’t decided.”

He knew she was biting her tongue but chose not to needle the real answer out of her. “It will bring my wife a certain warmth that you still have this gift.”

“I’m. . .” She searched for the right word. “Tell her thank you if you would, Sir.”

“I shall.”

  
  
  
“Dr. T, are you nervous?” Billy the Sixth peered over the top of his data padd now that he was ignoring his dinner. Salsa poached chicken was nasty. “You’re usually cool as a cuke.”

“My sister is supposed to be picking up something for me today that’s of vital importance. I’m waiting for her to call and let me know she found it.” He wasn’t going to get into what he’d sent Mollie after. Enterprise was like most gossip-entrenched small towns, and he couldn’t breathe one word of what he expected without the entire ship knowing immediately.

“Oh, okay.” The Brit wasn’t sure he wanted to take Tralnor at his word.

“No nerves.” Tralnor said because nervous wasn’t the right description for what percolated in his mind right then. “Just some minor anticipation is all.”

A warm tingle started in Tralnor’s nose and buzzed through his brain. James Kirk was on his way to the mess and walking on air.

_It’s going to be good again_! _He misses me_! _He said so. I could fly away on those words alone_. The captain’s face wrinkled at the sight of dinner. _Oh sweet hell, what the ever-loving fuck you is this_? _What’s salsa-steamed chicken_?

Had he been alone with the captain, Tralnor might have laughed at the commanding officer’s culinary commentary. The gross omnivorous main course was a shining star compared to picante eggplant garnished with capers. Peanut butter and jam on toast was an absolute salvation.

Kirk grimaced and pulled a member of the kitchen staff aside before threading his way through the crowd and taking an unusual spot with Tralnor and the lads. “I’m stealing something from your playbook, Dr. Tralnor.”

Avery, who had a tray containing a bowl of green peas, a small dish of vanilla ice cream, and a short pile of crackers did laugh. “Anything to avoid the main entrée, Captain?”

“You know it, Lieutenant.” Kirk smiled as a crewman set four slices of buttered toast sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, a plain piece of chicken, and a heaping serving of peas in front of him.

“Sometimes rank has its privileges.” Tralnor said, honestly glad to see and feel that the captain was emerging from his private exile to Hades.

_See, Jimmy, even dinner around here can turn into something good_. “Sometimes, Dr. Tralnor.”

Chris O’Dell came near and almost backed away when he saw the guest of honor at the table. It wasn’t unusual to see Tralnor sitting with the command staff, but this smacked of strange. Tralnor said, “Sit, Chris.”

“Just like every night.” The willowy near-albino said. He tucked into the chicken monstrosity as one of the few who didn’t care what was on his plate. He tried not to undress Kirk with his eyes and let his imagination carry him away.

Kirk bit off half a wedge of toast. “All I’m going to ask you kids is that you don’t tattle on me to McCoy about the cinnamon and sugar.” That drew a round of polite laughter. “I’ve got to watch my girlish figure.”

_And we’re going to get away from Starbase 21_! The captain’s mind sang the news. _Gonna get away_! _We’re going to hunt down Hillyard and nail her ass to the fucking wall_.

Tralnor sipped his drink, nodding along to something Chris said when his brain picked up a missive meant just for him. Kirk grinned at the Vulcan, letting his eyes sparkle in a barely contained joy. _He’s coming back to me, Tralnor. Thank you_.

(You are welcome, James.)

  
  
  
In the vault, Mollie lifted the lid on her box. The bank employee attending her was standoffish the moment she and her family members walked in. Even Justin had come to town dressed for business. The clothes had thrown the guy before he saw their faces and discovering three of the four of them looked human made him more confused. He’d not taken his eyes off her, his visual cortex trying to vacuum up as many details as it could. Working in Los Angeles, Mollie thought this person should be more inclined to accept the fantastic because this area manufactured strangeness and dreams. He was incredibly interested in her and the items she was setting out on the table.

“Do you have a question?”

“What are you and where are you from?” He gawped, realizing his behavior might cost him his job.

“One word answers both: Vulcan. I was born there, grew up there, and will probably be going back there as to not continue to offend the people of earth who share your delicate sensibilities.” Her most important paperwork, all the text in modern Golic, was something this creep couldn’t read anyway, so she spread it out to make a passive-aggressive point. He coughed and tried to stare at her while looking like he wasn’t trying to stare at her.

She picked up her birth record, and as always was impressed that there was absolutely nothing in it noting her genetic background. Her mother, Livia Ah’delevna MacCormack, was listed as both biological parents. She placed the parchment back in the safe deposit box and opened a few smaller containers that stayed with the documents.

One was an elaborate presentation box for a ring. Another was from Vulcan and held all of Mollie’s ceremonial jewelry, a third was where she kept her T’Kehr’s dagger. The last thing she opened was a crumbling cardboard display box from an old defunct department store gone over two centuries ago. All of the little tidbits she’d come to collect were accounted for, so she dropped them in her tote bag.

“Um, is it as hot there as they say?” The bank employee tried to scrape back from previous embarrassment.

“Have you been to Las Vegas in July and spent time outside during the day?” She settled everything she wasn’t taking back into its metal sarcophagus.

“Yeah. My friends and I went for a week last summer. It was forty degrees every day.” He acted like he didn’t think she was so scary after all. “Hotter than hell.”

“That’s a cold night in ShiKahr.” She closed and sealed the hinged lid, ready to let this guy take over and slide it back into it’s locking slot.

“Cold, huh?” He shuffled as quickly as he could to shove Mollie’s personal vault back into the wall.

She shouldered her bag, ready to leave, the employee not comprehending that she wasn’t going to mindlessly chat to him about the weather. “My family is waiting on me.”

“Oh, yeah. Shoot.” He finally escorted her back to the lobby.

“Um, thanks for coming by and uh—” One glance from Sarek stopped the employee in his tracks. “Until next time? Have a good day.”

“You have retrieved what you needed?” The ambassador wanted to get the hell out of there.

“I did. Now, all we need is to see if Friedrich Noble’s has an analogue metronome for Joe.” Mollie led the way into the car park, relieved to escape this latest round of human scrutiny.

  
  
  
Sha’leyen brought three separate DNA profiles up on the screen for Kirk and Spock to see. “The first one is indeed Kevin Radovitch. These other two belong to a man and a woman, neither of them are Starfleet, civilian employees or contractors for Starfleet. Give me a little more time and I’ll have them run through all the other databases I can. I also checked with the manufacturer of the server components, and they showed me how all of those boards were made in clean rooms by robots and other machines. They were packed by machines, also in clean rooms. Even the packing materials are made through an automated process that doesn’t come into contact with people.

“The first time the boards were ever handled by humanoid hands was when Spock and his team built Block 32.”

“Have you discovered any unknown fingerprints that might match with the additional DNA profiles?” The first officer was disturbed enough by the confirmation of one criminal wreaking havoc in his server room. That two more people were somehow involved was inconceivable.

“Still waiting on that. Those systems bog down easily and can take longer than we’d like. However, I do want to give a caveat to the DNA I’m telling you about. It is possible that Radovitch encountered these two people and interacted with them in a way that caused their genetic material to adhere to his skin or clothing and that he shed those leftovers into the server block.” She wished these results were more cut and dry, but she was trained to look for all the holes in a story.

Kirk wasn’t pleased by this addendum. “We’ll get that figured out. In the meantime, we should take a walk down to Legal and have a nice long talk with Blaedel and Dresden. We might even get additional charges filed against this cretin before we cast our moorings.”

(Cast off our moorings? Have we been given clearance to leave Starbase 21?) She asked Spock, hoping it was true. She’d started assigning her staff academic-style assignments to keep their brains from turning into mush since there was so little for them to do.

(I have not been informed if that is the case.)

Kirk passed Spock and gave him a come-hither smile.

(It appears that a reversal of fortunes might have come our way.) She said. (The both of you are back on good terms?)

Spock and Sha’leyen followed after the captain. Spock said, (I would not go so far as to say we are back on terms of any sort, but the potential is there.)


	70. Chapter 70

Silvio wanted to tuck his tail between his legs and run, but there was nowhere for him to go in the brig. He knew he’d been a dick the previous night. Laura brought over a chair and sat in front of his cell instead of letting him out so they might talk like normal people. She didn’t relish his disappointment but hoped he might learn something from it.

“Do you know anything about an LAPD detective called Zadie Pambakian?” She was still trying to process the strange call from earlier.

“Never heard of the guy.” Silvio wrapped his hands around the cool metal bars confining him to a space the size of a small walk-in closet. “I think you’re the only actual Angelino I know.”

“Seems I’ve become rather popular with smug, degenerate, lowlifes as of late. This detective was put in touch with Dan Shelley, who in turn routed her to me. From the information Morgana and I have scraped together, the good copper is taking up space in the LA County lockup on a long list of felonies. I can’t claim to have wracked up murder, attempted murder, arson, terrorism, accessory to murder, sexual assault, abuse of police powers, explosives charges, human supremacist activities, GBH, and hit-and-run violations all in the same day. I’ve done some shit in my time, but Detective Pambakian is a whole different level of nuts.” Laura certainly wasn’t going to seek this person out to learn more about what she wanted.

“Impressive criminal credentials. Is she another Ensign Corpse-fucker, just looking to get some fast cash?” Silvio didn’t know what to think.

“Fucked if I know what she wants. She thought she could pop up on my comm, on my ship, and act like she was cock of the fucking walk. So I hung up on her dumb ass.” Laura straightened up, a couple of vertebrae crackling and shifting to a more comfortable placement. “Here’s the big thing, Detective Pambakian rallied some of the AVDL on the ground in LA to try and kill Mollie MacCormack.”

“This pig went after your Mollie? If I weren’t locked in a cage right now, I’d find this dirty cop and teach her all about stepping on other people’s toes.”

“Yep, _my Mollie_ , using my people, and my organization. Mallia Ah’delevna is my foil. The dear detective has pissed off the wrong starship captain.”

Silvio chuckled. “Some people aren’t very smart.”

“Speaking of not smart, tell me what really happened last night because there’s more to it than you being horny. If you wanted to get laid that bad, you know you didn’t have to come to me. I need to know that the crew and the AVDL can trust your decisions and your ability to make them.” She let him withdraw into the cage.

“I don’t know what happened. I lost control.” He was honest enough in his response that she didn’t think he’d arrived in her quarters intending to physically harm her.

“You’ve never cared who or what I was fucking before either. Is this going to keep being a problem?”

Somewhat humbled, he said, “No.”

“Good.”

“Do you think—”

“Uh-uh. You’ve got two more days to do some reflecting and really get your shit together.” She put her chair away and left.

  
  
  
Tralnor took one more look around the room, all the crewmen and junior officers in their places and ready to go. “I’m going to give you three beats, then the proverbial baton drops.”

“Yes, Sir.” The group responded.

He set the playing card sized electronic metronome on a ledge, pressed the start button, and let the device tap out an adagio at seventy-five beats per minute. Tralnor stepped up to his spot, let the tempo sink in for a few more seconds, and counted off. “Two-and-three-and-four-and—”

On the downbeat, a pre-arranged choreography started, each humanoid’s movement put to the pulse of the only non-ambient sound in the room. No one talked lest they interrupt the flow of work and concentration. Freshly autoclaved trays of empty electrophoresis gel molds went to the pour stations. Filled molds were set with channel combs to create the wells where Enterprise’s scientists pipetted whatever liquid materials they needed to test. Comb-set trays moved to the U-shaped table in the center of the room where two crewmen did quality control measurements. Any gels that weren’t up to standard were marked with a swab of gentian violet, then another crewman came over and delivered the inspected trays to a cooling rack.

Relying on his honed Vulcan time-sense, Tralnor called the exercise to a halt at exactly seven minutes. All movement stopped except for the people setting the last channel combs. When they finished, everyone turned to face the music teacher. “Give those last trays to Kim and Luton to QC.”

The comb-setters complied and placed the trays on the table. There were a couple of streaks of gentian violet, but that wasn’t as important right then as the process of making the gels from start to finish.

“Crewman Post, what’s our final count of viable gels?” Of the eighty on the table, only two were duds. Each of the 1.75-meter high cooling racks held twelve trays. Five full racks, plus one tray on a sixth rack, and the other four on the table meant 1300 gels were poured from the four pouring stations in seven minutes.

“Forty-one duds, Sir.” Post replied. “One-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-nine winners, Dr. Tralnor.”

“So, if we do a little math taking into consideration, I had you start with the smallest, most fiddly, and least used size, and we extrapolate that over to our larger, more popular model, we made approximately three- hundred-and-fifteen gels, from equipment set-up to cooling in about an hour.”

“And that beats the hell out of an all-day affair to barely eke out five-hundred.” Ensign Woodward was excited.

“It certainly does.” Tralnor commented as he made a move to shut off and pocket the metronome. “It’s late enough now that we should break this down. We can practice some more tomorrow with all of the expired goods we’ve found lingering in the media stores.”

Someone laughed and took a shot at Chavez for keeping shitty inventory records. Another person asked Tralnor a question. “Did your family really make you sit with a metronome while you were doing math when you were a kid?”

“They did.” People weren’t leaving because they sensed an interesting story. “It’s nearly identical to wak tvi-stukh exercises Vulcan children are taught from a young age. The desired outcome is a strong ability to solve complex mathematical and scientific problems strictly within the confines of your mind, no pens, papers, calculators, or computers. How it works is that the interval between each beat is the amount of time you get to solve any given chunk of an equation. For example, with a simple algebra problem: First interval, read the equation. Second, break it into its component parts. Third beat, order of operations. Fourth beat, check your math. Fifth beat, break it down again into its components. Six, ask yourself if any terms can be reduced, combined, you see where this is going.”

“Is it just math and pouring electrophoresis gels this method is good for?” Crewman Kim was enraptured with a potentially new way to figure things out mentally.

“It helps put order to psionic minds. When you’re learning how to cross into a proper meditative trance, you’ve got to have a way to methodically organize and outline your thoughts and feelings so you can focus on what you need to accomplish in the trance. It forces extraneous information, musings, and reactions through your realm of awareness without allowing you to follow tangents and incidental inquiries. If you need to focus on the right mindset for an exam, first beat, do I need groceries for later? Yes or No? Second beat, yes. Third, address that need the next time you leave the house. Fourth beat, worry about social situations within your friend group. Fifth beat, does this worry benefit or hinder the potential outcome of your exam. Sixth, hinder. Seventh, you know you’re aware of the worry and set it off to the side to work on later. Beat eight, narrow your attention to the exam starting with the subject. Nine, how is it organized? And it goes on from there until you settle into a mindset where you can work on your revisions sans intrusion from your own mind.”

“Wow. You’re fully trained to not let your brain run at a mile a minute.” Kim thought this was brilliant.

Leaned against the table, Ensign Woodward tilted her head. “Is that how you don’t go stir crazy from all of this thinking in intervals and organizing thoughts? You think it away?”

“The mind-body connection is a little different. My human family and the Vulcans know that psionic children need heavily regimented lives if they’re to make it into adulthood without their mental abilities driving them to madness. I started violin and dance lessons when I was two, piano and gymnastics at three, voice at five, and those were in conjunction with the standard Vulcan disciplines. They wear us out, so we’re not squirming around during our academics. We learn to sense and control our bodies, so we know exactly what space we occupy and what we’re doing to avoid disconnects like you see in software/hardware interfaces.” His thoughts went to Nurse Chapel’s tirade about Vulcans abusing their children. She needed to spend some time tending to the homeless populations in human cities to see how it can all go wrong for psions who don’t get the attention they need in their formative years. “Mastery of the body and mind also lets you dial back emotional reactions.”

“And why wasn’t I invited to this party?” Chavez, who’d spent the last three days goofing off over on the starbase landed in the center of the conversation with a resounding thud. “Hey?”

Everyone stepped back into their working roles, breaking down and cleaning the gel pouring equipment. Chavez stood there for about ten seconds before stalking away like a sullen teenager.

“ _Dufus_.” Someone commented.

  
  
  
Kirk had spent more time with the Legal department in the last month than he’d done in his entire career. He wasn’t well versed enough in the language and pantomime of the court system to claim any comfort about operating within its confines. So many times he’d wondered why he had to cart around an office full of lawyers and their clerks to all ends of the quadrant, but when they were needed, they certainly came in handy.

Commander Blaedel scoured Starfleet Code and the Uniform Federation Code since this latest incident drew civilian corporate entities into the whole mess. “Radovitch is one sick puppy. Of course, we can’t make him out to be so screwed up in the head that he gets a wrist slap and a few years at a Federation funny farm either. Give us a day or so to read up. We need to find out if we can file these charges through the JAG because if things go to Federal Court. . . Not to mention jurisdiction.”

“Just keep me posted, Serj.”

Blaedel nodded. “We will, Captain.”

Leaving the attorneys to their work, the captain circulated throughout the ship, walking for the sake of getting the blood pumping through his legs. All this time spent on his ass while Enterprise lounged around Starbase 21 made him feel like the lower half of his body was starting to look like a pancake. The last natural sun to warm his face was on that damned Melbek III. He made a slap-dash plan to start on exercises to put some of the tone back in his buns. This was one of those times he wished this ship of his had stairs.

  
  
  
Daniel Shelley was a gullible person. He’d take someone like Zadie Pambakian, who claimed she had valuable information and accept everything she said at full face-value. He only got away with that behavior because the AVDL was the dominant political force on Trego Delta, and no one had the balls to challenge AnthroVision. That same sense of support and agreement led to isolation. Dan ruled from his plush palace in the pampered estates that overlooked Campbell City. He hadn’t left the Trego system in years.

Laura tried to explain that this person, this police officer, made him out as an easy mark. When Dan told her to stop being so paranoid, she asked him what Pambakian had on him. He clammed up. “What is it, Dan? Pambakian found the kids you had with Flanna, that equal rights, pro-genetic modification activist, before she went completely wackadoodle on you? All that shows is how you got fucked over by someone who amputated you from your children’s lives. That makes you more relatable to the masses, not less.”

“I’m just thinking you should hear this person out.” He still wore that hang-dog expression that cried out how much he loved and adored Laura, but now there were strands of fear woven into that emotional output. Dan was desperately worried about his secretly psionic Golden Girl.

“I’m not listening to a thing until you’re honest with me. I can read you like a book, and there’s nothing telepathic about it.” She was done with these almost-obsessed men in her life trying to lead her around like a horse to water. Veddah, as completely fucked up as he was, had become the most stable person in her universe. That severely damaged boy was a better man than Daniel Shelley ever was or could be.

It wasn’t good form to hang up on the Big Boss, so she let him talk at her about inane topics while she formulated a way to dig up the skeletons in Pambakian’s past. Laura wasn’t afraid of the police. Bent coppers were just another flavor in the ice cream shop of the criminal element.

“You’re right. I can’t lie to you.” Disappointed in himself, he explained how several days ago, he got a call from Pambakian before she got herself arrested for trying to murder Mollie. Dan saw the detective as an outside resource to satisfy his curiosity about Laura’s spooky not-quite-affinity for predicting possible future events and knowing what people were thinking. “She found your test results for me.”

“ _Oh, Dan_.”

“I’m sorry, Laura. I fucked up.” He hung his head in shame. He only looked back at her, pure confusion contorting his features, as she started laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“Do you remember why the AVDL recruited so aggressively to get me away from EarthFirst?”

“I’m—What?”

“Well, do you?”

“I always wondered why you came to us when EarthFirst is far more academic, a much better fit for someone like you.”

“I was brought in as a forger.” _And you guys kissed up to me in a way that I’d never experienced. You made me feel important, wanted, essential to the function of the group_. She avoided falling into a well of her history with the AVDL. “I’m damned good at it, and AnthroVision paid well, better than a high school dropout could ever make elsewhere.”

He smiled. “That’s right. Counterfeit credentials, letters, identification, you did it all.”

“And I still do when we need them here on Sweetness. So, while you and I know the documents Pambakian’s dug up are real, that doesn’t mean I can’t work some magic to cover our asses and expose hers. It won’t change the fact that what’s revealed in those test results is true, but it can buy me some time.”

“You’re amazing.” A wave of redemption relieved some of his burden. “I was so worried. I thought I’d ruined us.”

“Before you and I get back to work, give me this woman’s contact information. I’m making the first move this time and showing her who’s in charge.”


	71. Chapter 71

“Let me get this straight, Ensign Culpepper. You were camel-fighting in the squash court and the guy whose shoulders you were on tripped on someone else’s foot, and he fell, smashing you through the plexiglass?” McCoy filed yet another injury under the Hold My Beer category. Boredom bred idiocy, and these sorts of frivolities were adding up in his sick bay. “You’re damned lucky you didn’t wind up losing an eye or worse.”

“I understand, Dr. McCoy.” The tissue regenerator and a healthy layer of Dermaplast applied every morning for a week would have Culpepper looking good as new. At the moment, her face looked like raw mince. “I’ll be more careful.”

“Next time you and your buddies get bored, go read a book.” He left the treatment area, scribbling notes on a data padd as he continued about his day. It was hard not to annoy Ari and try to figure out where and when this Advanced Aerospace team was supposed to show up and save Enterprise’s crew from themselves.

“They are so cute together.” Joan Patel’s voice carried. “And he’s so innocent, its darling.”

Christine’s tone was less than appreciative. “I don’t want to hear about it, Joan.”

“You know they call him the Krampus?” Joan prattled on. “Seems our Sarah is taking some of the bite out of our pointy-eared demon.”

“No more.” Chapel warned.

“I saw them last night when I was at the curry house with Doug. I think they were out on a date. He blushed like a spinach salad when she took his hand. So sweet.”

Something slammed to the floor. “Shut up!”

“Chrissy?” Joan was startled by the reaction.

“Stop rubbing my face in it, Joan. Don’t you think I get it? I know I’m not good enough for them. Leave me the hell alone about it!”

McCoy got close enough to the scuffle to see Joan standing by an occupied bed, back once turned to Chapel. Christine stood about two meters away, surrounded by the broken leftovers of the medical implements she’d hurled down.

“I wasn’t even talking to you, Chrissy.” Joan said. “Lt. Commander Larson and I were doing just fine without your eavesdropping in on our conversation.”

Chapel wound up another volley as McCoy stepped up, grabbed her by the elbow, and hauled her off to a spot with a locking door. “What the hell is wrong with you lately, Chris?”

“Nothing, Doctor.” She wiped at the tears she couldn’t stop.

“If you need some time off, fine, let me know, and I’ll make it happen.”

“No, I’m okay, I swear.” Embarrassment that she’d capitulated to her inner turmoil started to creep into her bearing.

“If you can’t get yourself put together right quick, I’m going to have to mark you as unfit for duty. You can’t be going around the ship flinging yourself at people in an amorous manner, accusing them of abusing their children, and throwing temper tantrums because you don’t like what you’re hearing in someone else’s conversation."

 _Less than a year_ , McCoy thought. _I’ve got less than a year left of this dog and pony show_.

She tried to give a stiff upper lip. “I promise I won’t let you down, Doctor.”

“Maybe you should think about transferring to a ship that doesn’t have any Vulcans on it.” He thumbed the door-open mechanism and let her stare after him.

 _Goddamn_ , he thought. _I need a drink, but instead, I have to go to the mess and make sure Jim lays off the toast_.

  
  
  
“ _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit_!” Joe’s first dalliance at the controls of the real-life ShuttleDirect No.742 was going a lot better than his shouting and swearing indicated. No one was dead, he kept the little bird under control, but was petrified of doing something wrong. “ _Shit_!”

T’Lal let him keep screaming since it allowed him to divert his worry in a way that wasn’t affecting his piloting abilities. To Mollie, it reminded her of all the caterwauling and carrying on they’d done during marching band rehearsals. There was something about the stream of profanity that allowed for focus.

“Fuck me sideways!” He entered the course correction T’Lal gave and smoothly brought the craft around. He was done overthinking every move and just did what was needed. “ _Son-of-a-cocksucking-manwhore._ "

He did a beautiful job of putting the shuttle down next to the tractor barn. “Holy balls, we’re alive.”

“You did well, Mr. Bergman.” T’Lal said as the engines went to low-power mode.

“I did not.” Joe followed through the entire shutdown procedure before unbuckling and standing up.

“Henny-Penny, you never did know how to take a real compliment.” Mollie swapped into the pilot’s seat.

He stopped and gave a single nod then hung his head. “It’s hard to accept praise when the voices in the back of my head instantly remind me that doing something good got two of my best friends murdered.”

“Mr. Bergman, when Mollie completes her flight, I am taking you aside where we will begin on the basics of the Rule of Peace.” T’Lal motioned for him to sit down and strap in.

Mollie consulted the power-up checklist, followed each task in order, and kept listening to the conversation going on to the side and behind her. She’d thought they were waiting until the tavalik duv-tor saga finished out before starting Joe down the path of emotional control for mental health reasons.

“Wait a second.” He sounded incredulous. “You’re going to teach me the Tago t’Sochya? I’m not worthy of your instruction. I’ve killed people, three now. I’m—I don’t think I’m a good person, in fact, I know I’m not.”

T’Lal’s voice was firm, “Clan Lyr Saan does not turn its back on those in need, Mr. Bergman.”

Content to wait for instructions, Mollie said, “Please, Joe. Let us help. The crippling burden of this pain is destroying you.”

  
  
  
Bones might as well have spanked Jim and taken away his birthday. He felt a powerful sense of mourning as he saw the physician intercept the kitchen staff and nix the deliciously simple toast element of his dinner. Instead of cinnamon and sugar toast, mashed potato, and a chicken fried steak, he got a big old green salad with cubed chicken breast and a fat-free, sugar-free balsamic vinaigrette.

“Don’t start, Jim.” Bones smiled and shoveled a pitchfork’s worth of salad into his mouth.

Tralnor arrived, teasing him with peanut butter and jam on toast. The captain didn’t think this was the tiniest bit fair.

“Quit whining and eat.” The doctor directed. “And don’t fall for it and sneak him something under the table, Dr. Tralnor.”

He grumbled and dug into his salad, knowing he’d be ravenous in a few hours. He’d ask Kuznetsov to bring him some real food later. Bones couldn’t do a damned thing about a gift of honey-glazed pecan-crusted salmon appearing at his door.

“I know you’re scheming, Jim. I’ve already called her and told her no, that if she shows up with a takeaway, I’ll be right there waiting to pry it out of her hands.”

“Bones, you’re killing me.”

“If you’re hungry later, come back for more, so long as it's healthy.”

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” Sha’leyen, who rarely got to the officers’ mess at the same time as Tralnor, took up with the captain, doctor, and musician. “Mashed potato and snot?”

“That’s one of the reasons why I don’t eat off the steam table.” Tralnor said.

“You can always get the salad trough.” The captain held up his bowl to show off his livestock feed. “ _Mooooooo_.”

“Hell's sake, Jim. Stop being such a child and eat your damned dinner.”

Kirk didn’t know if he could do another bite. “It almost tastes like real greens, and the chicken is only half as chewy as a rubber bullet.”

“I don’t do chicken or other things that are or pretend to be meat.” She was visibly glad that entire category of sustenance which Enterprise’s kitchens massacred was off the table.

“I knew that, Sha’leyen.” He smirked and said, “I had a friend in high school who always used to say that salad is what food eats.”

“Your friend wasn’t all that smart, was he?” Bones was not backing down.

Kirk felt someone walk up behind him. He began to look back when Squirrelly Yeoman addressed the bioarchaeologist. “Lt. Commander, this was sent over from the station as a priority shipment.”

She had to sign for the small parcel. “Something to take our minds off dinner. What do you say we see what’s in this thing?”

Salad was almost tolerable with a side of distraction.

  
  
  
Sha’leyen noticed immediately the piece of mail was from Vulcan. “It’s from Zakhira Tay, my T’Kehr.”

(What if it has to do with the Kennuk?) Tralnor looked at the labeling.

(I can come up with an adequate explanation. I am the head of xenoanth after all.) She used her butter knife to cut the seal. Well protected in layers of swaddling, a cloth Lyr Saan purple bag no larger than a plum waited for her. She untied the drawstring, peered in, her breath caught and thoughts went reeling.

(Sha’leyen?) Tralnor wondered what could have set off such a reaction.

Dr. McCoy set down his fork. “Are you okay over there?”

She felt her hands tremor as her mind tried to catch up with what she saw. Temporarily mute, she tipped the object into one of her palms and held it so everyone knew she’d been sent a big, hefty ring. The shank was thick and wide in what humans would refer to as a men’s style. It was the face of the ring, what the design was, and what it meant that touched her to the core.

To a human, it probably looked like a stylized gold half-moon, half-mid-twentieth century modern sun, set with seventy-five round .05 carat diamonds on the moon and five of the fifteen sunbeams. In the dead center of the face, was a round bezel set .25 carat diamond. Judged by itself as a piece of jewelry, this ring was impressive.

“That is a great honor.” Tralnor said. “Congratulations, Sha’leyen.”

“I’m just about dead from the curiosity. What’s going on?” The doctor wanted to know.

Lt. Uhura set her tray down and tucked into her dinner and soon found out she’d landed in the midst of intrigue. “That’s a beautiful ring, Lt. Commander.”

“Thank you, Uhura.” Sha’leyen slipped the heavy symbol onto the middle finger of her right hand. The overhead lights had it glittering like a display of fairy lights. “This means I have been officially adopted as Zakhira’s daughter. This is the Tay family seal. For the first time in twenty years, I have a real surname again. . . The Tays are an old Lyr Saan family, like the Ah’delevnas. I am humbled.”

Fortune had blessed her in a grand manner, both with the arrival of Tralnor and Zakhira’s desire to officially bring the broken girl she’d helped all those years ago into the realm of her descendants. Thol’rokan Sha’leyen of the Third Regents of Belon ceased to exist the moment she was captured as a war prize. The person she became after her escape to Vulcan was one half of a name, part of her identity was missing.

“Lt. Commander Tay sounds quite nice, has a good feel to it.” McCoy complimented.

“Massive congratulations to you, Sha’leyen. I know what it's like to lose family to catastrophic collapse and tragedy.” Kirk regarded her with a kind and understanding eye. “But I never lost my name. I always had that sense of belonging to the tribe of Kirks who’d gone before me. I’m glad you’ve got that back and know how important that is.”

“Captain, Doctor, your words mean a lot.” She looked at Tralnor and let him take her hand. “The name is a derivative of an ancient Golic word meaning unobtainable. It was chosen, like a lot of the symbology of the Lyr Saan, in defiance of subjugation. This,” she held up the ring, showing the face, “is the las’hark, the sun, no one owns it, no one forces it to do their bidding, it acts on its own accord, rising and setting no matter what those who wish to master it want it to do.”

  
  
  
Dark chocolate, cashews, sesame seed candies, deep-fried breaded mushrooms, black bean nachos with extra black beans, Laura loved them all and wanted at that moment to make a massive meal of just those items. The snack drawer gave her the chocolate, which was good because she needed the caffeine boost. After gathering up her goodies, she’d taken up residence in her garden shed, where she settled in with the beat-up old terminal that she did all of her best hacking from. Zadie Pambakian was going to regret being born.

This was harder to do from such a distance because of time lag and reliance on systems and relays that were out of her control. In this case, patience was a must. Rushing any part of the process would result in the kinds of holes and snags that would let someone like Pambakian out of jail, never to return to serve out her time because of obvious outside tampering.

Entities like LAPD and Starfleet always thought they were so fucking smart when it came to protecting their personnel files. The California DMV, which for some reason still had the word motor in its title, was harder to get into! Laura, once she finally breached earth’s computer networks, went after the information she wanted like a cadaver dog sought a corpse. It didn’t take long to find the right person.

Detective Zadie Pambakian was forty-one, a nineteen-year veteran of the force, Los Angeles native, and according to her psych profile, she was utterly fucking insane when it came to her personal life. An exemplary record on the streets, both in patrol and on the detective table, first in Wilshire Division, then Hollywood, she ticked all the right professional boxes. When she was off the clock, that’s where she went to shit.

Unverified, prolific complaints from exes, where no one was ever convinced to press charges, piled up like cars at a demolition derby. Pambakian was a genuine predator, her bad behavior finally catching up with her at long last. Laura had to question why such a person was allowed to a) join the police department, and b) not fired years ago for her improprieties.

The most recent word from an LAPD psychologist she was forced to see after—“You were banging Mollie, she figured out what a twisted pussy-fiend you were, and dumped you like a sack of manure. Now you’re acting out a revenge fantasy where you not only get back at her, you manipulate it, so you rekindle your relationship by rescuing her from the deadly situation you created. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Then, it did, Pambakian made sense on a high level. One of the stray notes in the psych file, probably never meant to be part of the record, said: _Possible Borderline Personality Disorder? Def shows signs of narcissism and hx of aggression toward romantic partners_.

Two-and-a-half years ago, the detective’s love life brought her professional life crashing down. She’d passed the Lieutenant’s Exam, was on her way to running her own murder squad in the Rampart Division, and according to the file, she and Mollie were hitting the skids. Mollie left for a nine-to-twelve month assignment on a Vulcan research vessel. Pambakian blathered on and on about how fake Mollie was, how she chose to emulate an extra-terrestrial culture just to be irritating, how wanting to be a Vulcan had cut her off from her human roots, and how it was impossible to understand why Mollie wouldn’t just stop pretending and be human!

For a decorated detective and graduate of California State University Long Beach, Pambakian hadn’t learned a damned thing about Mollie the entire time they were together. “You stupid bitch. Mollie’s not human, she never was and never will be.”

Tirade skimmed through, Laura got to the reason Pambakian thought things ended. Supposedly, Mollie had deliberately pushed her over the edge and ruined her life by fucking an old boyfriend while off dashing through the stars. Laura thought that odd, not like Mollie at all, until she read the next couple of pages and learned the context of this supposed extracurricular dalliance. The shrink left some more comments: _Pt makes contradictory claims that she encouraged her girlfriend to sleep with this man who’s referred to as an ex, an old friend, a home-wrecker, and an alien versed in mind control, while simultaneously insisting that she’d never nudge someone to cheat on her_.

“Don’t lie, you nasty fucking cow. You wanted her schtupping Spock so you could get your rocks off and only changed your mind afterward.” Laura did a little typing and arranged for Pambakian’s full record to arrive in the mailboxes of every news outlet in Southern California at 0400 Pacific Time tomorrow.

Tonight, she’d finish finding and altering the PPAI and Vulcan test results, then drop in on the rest of Pambakian’s life. Bank accounts, education records, where her name showed up on deeds and rental agreements, all of her communications, and from there, Laura would sew the seeds to hopefully instigate a movement amongst the human rubble the detective tossed aside and maybe get hundreds of girls and women to overcome their fear of this dirty cop and put her under the jailhouse.

“Detective, I’m a hardened criminal, a _rapist_ even, and I can admit when I’m wrong and that I’ve gone beyond the pale.” Laura addressed the ether. “Not even someone as freakish as Mollie MacCormick deserves someone like you.”

This was a hell of a lot of fun, hard work, but fun.


	72. Chapter 72

Tralnor found himself in front of the usual crowd in Rec Room 2 picking up, reiterating, and elaborating on the discussion he’d had earlier with the Media Lab staff. Tongues had wagged, and if there was a way to learn more about the quirky intricacies of what made his mind work, people were interested.

“How many of you in here know of one or more human psions or suspected psions who are profoundly mentally ill?” About a quarter of the people in the room raised their hands, even the infamous Nurse Chapel.

He started on a broad history of human psionics, emphasizing the dominant Western cultures, that until the rise and prominence of the Holy Roman Empire, telepaths, clairvoyants, and other such people with psi abilities were a normal part of daily life. They never made up a large part of the population, but they were common enough to be just that, common. Those psions developed their own training techniques and controls passed down the generations until the man-made entity of The Church stepped in and declared naturally occurring, “God-given” psi abilities as the work of the devil. Thousands of years of mental discipline was replaced with centuries of persecution and drove that particular subset of humanity underground. Deadly superstitions overrode logic and history, psions were executed and turned into objects of fear.

That mentality spread with Western civilization. Over a millennium of destroying their own psions, the slaughter turned to the New World, where a much larger concentration of people possessed such abilities. Native and Aboriginal peoples succumbed by the millions to disease, war, and hate, thus further depleting the world of a precious resource.

“Now, you run into rare pockets, select lineages that kept to the shadows and passed their abilities down through the years. My father’s family is one of those. The MacCormacks developed their own tailored curriculum to train up the minds of their children and keep them sane. They’ve also been in the unenviable situation where over time, the genetics that cede these abilities have concentrated and nearly bottlenecked.” Tralnor asked Spock, “Describe my human family tree, please.”

“Very well, Dr. Tralnor.” Spock said in his usual smooth elocution. “The MacCormack family tree, as detailed to me by other humans involved in _Celluloid Vokaya_ , is a broomstick with a decorative silk leaf stapled to the top.”

“Human psions tend to be a little inbred. Keeping those abilities alive meant they needed to reproduce with other psions, hence one of the reasons it runs in families.” Tralnor said, immediately followed by Billy the Sixth belting out a question.

“Dr. T, how does that explain the people who live under flyovers and spend all day talking to the voices in their heads?”

“Sometimes the right recessive genes line up and a person is born and lives amongst those who don’t know what’s going on. They don’t get the guidance they need to harness their abilities, and by the time medical science figures out what’s happening, it’s usually too late. The grand majority of humans, some eighty-nine percent, are never tested for psi abilities.

“Humanity’s habitual fear and shunning of psions has left individuals and isolated family lines to pick up the slack. Very few groups or governments have ever stepped in to administer the needed training. In the mid-to-late 20th Century, the Soviet Union established programs, but it wasn’t for the benefit of the people, rather they wanted psions to give them the upper hand in their Cold War with the United States and Great Britain.”

A young woman in command gold from the Dragon raised her hand. “Is that why so many of the human psions I know of go off-world to places like Vulcan to receive training?”

“It is. The MacCormacks and groups like them help as many people as they can, but the training is extensive, and they don’t have the numbers to get to everyone who needs them. I know my family greatly appreciates the Vulcan initiative to offer guidance to human psions.”

Dragon offered a follow-up. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep that training ‘in-house’ as it were to make up for differences in style or culture?”

Tralnor and Spock exchanged a glance. (I don’t think they’re going to believe what I’ve got to say next.)

(They do not have to.) The first officer replied. (However, we can both offer ourselves up as proof of what works. Your students, Lt. David and Lt. Avery, though not functional psions as such, can offer evidence that specific forms of mental organization allow for—)

( _Oh shit_!)

(Tralnor?)

(I should finish this talk, we play a little music, then Spock, you and I need to examine what a super-genius human could do to the organization of their own mind through the independent study of Vulcan methods.)

Spock put together the pieces as Tralnor had. (All those books hidden in Laura’s collection. She is employing practical rather than purely theoretical study methods?)

(I’m speculating, but I think it's possible.) Tralnor returned his attention to the live question on the floor. “My answer to that, Lieutenant, is convergent evolution. The most effective psionic training methods as developed by the MacCormacks over the centuries are so closely mirrored by what the Vulcans came up with, that save for some linguistic and cultural differences, they’re nearly the same.”

“Is he serious, Spock?” Dr. McCoy’s big blue eyes struggled to stay in his skull. “What about the emotional aspect of humans being, well, humans?”

“Indeed, Doctor McCoy, Tralnor is serious.” Spock said, letting a droplet or two of antagonism into his voice. If he was feeling good enough to goad McCoy for fun, Tralnor was encouraged that his friend was coming through the storm. “Psionic children, be they Human or Vulcan, must learn to control their emotions to a certain extent or they are unable to master their mental abilities. Emotional and psionic reactions become intertwined, a classic example of this is Enterprise’s one-time guest, Mr. Charles Evans.”

“And the last thing the galaxy needs is more people like him running around. _That kid was dangerous_.” McCoy, for once, wasn’t going to challenge the Vulcan school of thought.

“As Lt. Atherton-Smyth VI mentioned, these unmoored psions will wind up on the very edges of society. They are rarely dangerous, their abilities often mistaken for illnesses of the brain like schizophrenia or severe bipolar disorder. Treatments for diseases they do not have, misdiagnoses, and an inability to blend into general society pushes them to the fringes.” Spock’s reply built on what Tralnor said earlier.

McCoy rooted in deeper, trying to take full advantage to gather more information on what molded certain members of his crew. “Can you give us an example of this convergent evolution?”

“Music.” Tralnor stated. “Musical instruction is an excellent way to teach organic structuring to the brain and organization skills to one’s conscious mind. It also teaches the mind/body connection to instill awareness of what you do and the space you occupy. Spock, Mollie, and I all took piano lessons from Betty Jenkins at the ShiKahr School of Arts. Those lessons were less about growing up to play sold-out shows at Carnage Hall and more about the coordination of incoming sensory information and the physical output of what that information demanded. And slightly off topic, but I know you’re going to ask, Doctor, why piano rather than a traditional Vulcan instrument? At that time in our young lives, no one wanted us in their studios because of our family backgrounds. That changed as we got older and proved our proficiency on the instruments we did learn. Lt. Seltun, what did you learn to play, do you still play, and if not, why did you stop?”

Seltun, unexpectedly called into the discussion, took a second to find the right memories. “I was instructed on the svitan-kolchak, the Vulcan alto flute. At this time, I do not play, as I lost interest in the subject as I got older and more involved in learning the geologic history of my planet. . . However, I might take it up again.”

“ _So you can serenade your Sarah with a song_!” Andy Picket ribbed and got the rest of the lads to hoot about Seltun getting lucky.

Tralnor asked Sha’leyen the same question. The bioarchaeologist let the corners of her mouth leave a Mona Lisa smile on her face. “I’m a terrible, terrible musician. I did the lessons and recitals because I had to. I did voice and Vulcan harp. I like how doing that did help a lot to set my mind to work in the right way. I hated that it went on for years on end. I quit and didn’t look back because my bare bones proficiency and actual talent have nothing to do with one another when it comes to performing. I appreciate music as a listener, and you all appreciate that I don’t make you listen to me.”

“Music, dance, mathematics, meditation, intense one-on-one instruction, an extremely regimented lifestyle, we’re kept busy so we don’t find trouble. Our young lives look like an over-scheduled nightmare, but that’s because we need the structure.” Tralnor went over to the piano and lifted the lid. “Come up with more questions, I might be able to furnish more answers, but for right now, the evening belongs to Night Music.”

He took his spot at the bench and launched into a song he thought somewhat appropriate given the discussion:

_In the beginning_

_There was the cold and the night_

_Prophets and angels gave us the fire and the light_

_Man was triumphant_

_Armed with the faith and the will_

_That even the darkest ages couldn't kill_

  


_Too many kingdoms_

_Too many flags on the field_

_So many battles, so many wounds to be healed_

_Time is relentless_

_Only true love perseveres_

_It's been a long time and now I'm with you_

_After two thousand years_

  


_This is our moment_

_Here at the crossroads of time_

_We hope our children carry our dreams down the line_

_They are the vintage_

_What kind of life will they live?_

_Is this a curse or a blessing that we give?_

_Sometimes I wonder_

_Why are we so blind to fate?_

_Without compassion, there can be no end to hate_

_No end to sorrow_

_Caused by the same endless fears_

_Why can't we learn from all we've been through_

_After two thousand years?_

  


_There will be miracles_

_After the last war is won_

_Science and poetry rule in the new world to come_

_Prophets and angels_

_Gave us the power to see_

_What an amazing future there will be_

_And in the evening_

_After the fire and the light_

_One thing is certain: nothing can hold back the night_

_Time is relentless_

_And as the past disappears_

_We're on the verge of all things new_

_We are two thousand years_

  
  
  
The idea that Laura had another weapon in her arsenal was disconcerting. Spock, Tralnor, and Sha’leyen decided to run this speculation past Livia since she specialized in neurology and neuropsionics. Livia remembered Laura mostly through her association with Laura’s mother, Tatyana Golovkin.

“Laura was a sharp kid. I never understood why she wasn’t in the Vulcan schools with you guys. They would have kept her occupied and maybe even away from the EarthFirst-types. I asked Tatyana once, and she wasn’t very forthcoming about why her brilliant kid was stuck at Consolidated. In the same conversation, she commented that Laura didn’t learn the racist stuff from her, but then the girl was practically left to raise herself. Back then, Tatyana worked at least one-hundred-hours a week. Laura lived in the VSA libraries and Tatyana’s lab, as just another tech, not as her daughter. I can see her studying, understanding, and applying mind-training techniques with no ill-effect.” Livia was exhausted and off on a bit of a ramble, but what she said made sense.

Spock feared they’d once again underestimated Laura Hillyard. “If her mind is that well organized, would it offer stability to a mentally volatile Vulcan suffering from PTSD?”

Not having the entire story yet, Livia gave a brief moment to think about Spock’s question. “It’s entirely possible. We all know that the traumatized Vulcan brain, if it can’t find the structure it needs to stay whole within itself, will seek outside reinforcement. That’s why Bendi Syndrome is diagnosed so late in more telepathically astute individuals.”

_Veddah hadn’t tried to escape Laura because he needed her to function_. Spock’s imagination fell far short of what that could mean. This was also more proof that Vulcans were not meant to exist as solitary creatures.

They touched, kissed, and were possibly lovers, and if he was using her to keep his head together, that kind of deep entanglement suggested Veddah was barely hanging on. Spock chose to disclose all of the details they knew about Laura and USS Seren’s surviving science officer. “His family and his fiancee confirm his gentle disposition. If he is dependent on her, what is her constant presence doing to his brain function or even his personality?”

“I think he’s one step ahead because she seems to actually like him and does actively empathize with him.” Tralnor said.

“What of the regular psychological impact of being forced to stay so close to his rapist as his only method of retaining enough control to remain sane?” Sha’leyen brought up another good point.

“If you find him, and he’s as dependent on her as we fear, you can’t let any harm come to her until a Healer transfers that link from Laura to another person who can be with him throughout his rigorous inpatient psiopsychological therapy. _I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that their link not be broken or tampered with_. If it is severed before he’s ready, it could kill him.” Livia made all three of them explain that they understood what she’d just said.

“Is there a way Lt. Veddah could be fortunate enough to have you as the Healer attending to his neurological and mental health care?” Spock wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think Livia wasn’t the absolute best available.

“Depending on where your ship is, it could take some time for me to catch up with you. If that’s the case and I’m ten days out, you can’t come down too hard on her and upset that balance. I don’t know that Starfleet will want to wait on me if you’ve got a mass-murderer awaiting arraignment who can’t be jailed away from a person she raped. You know how to contact me, and I’ve got the kinds of emergency medical clearances that can get me off-world and on my way as fast as possible.”

“Thank you, Livia.”

“Be careful out there and keep me in the loop.” Livia got up to switch off the comm.

“Auntie, can you brief Mollie on this discussion?” Tralnor asked.

“Consider it done.” She shut things off on her end.

“This has just gotten a little trickier.” Sha’leyen shook her head. “There isn’t a single thing about the tavalik duv-tor and what it does to people who are in life-support links. We are going to have to assume the absolute worst.”

  
  
Chapter Notes:Two-Thousand-Years, written by Billy Joel, from the album River of Dreams, 1993.


	73. Chapter 73

Spock and Tralnor learned as much as they could about the Vulcan history of Pezig’s Gate. Like Trego Delta, it was abandoned during the post-Reform contraction of Vulcan’s spacefaring empire. Pezig’s Gate wasn’t much of a loss. It was more of an intergalactic truck stop than a prosperous colony, and its main claim to fame was a massive prison complex that housed only the most disruptive and volatile individuals from the homeworld. It never had a population of much more than a quarter of a million people.

Given what Pezig’s Gate was used for, it was not too far fetched to believe that something as diabolical as a tavalik duv-tor was somewhere on its surface. The modern iteration of the planet was as a jumping off point for the vacation havens of the Halliday System, Cornucopia Nebulae Complex, and the ski resorts on Alpine Vista II. As a weigh-station for tourists, it was everything Alexander Pezig wanted it to be. Like the dry-goods proprietors of the California Gold Rush, Pezig made sure his outpost was the last chance for a lot of things before people went onto the final leg of their journeys.

The popularity of the holiday spots Pezig’s Gate catered to meant there were a lot of people concentrated in specific locations on the small planet’s surface. One of the good things about humans and Vulcans not really agreeing on the best living conditions as far as climate meant the three modern cities didn’t reoccupy the same ground as the defunct Vulcan urbs.

Neither human nor Vulcan archaeologists gave much of a damn about the material culture of the pre-Reform inhabitants. The ruins of Pezig’s Gate’s original cities were virtually untouched. “This is where having Sha’leyen with us becomes invaluable. She is quite knowledgeable in the realm of pre-Reform archaeology and has the credentials to get us into places others might find suspicious.”

Tralnor responded to Spock, “It’s almost too bad that we’re not going to do some actual historic archaeology. Whatever was left behind will still be interesting.”

“I find some relief that we are closing in on this artifact of malice. Our hunt cannot end soon enough.”

  
  
  
Laura was tired of trying to find information about Pezig’s Gate that went beyond the shiny tourist brochures. Sandia, Truth-Or-Consequences, and Roswell were the only bastions of civilization, and no one seemed to give a single shit about any history pre-dating Alex Pezig’s massive real estate speculation deal that landed him private ownership of an entire damned planet.

She’d have to spend part of the evening trying to see if she couldn’t get into Pezig’s own systems and glean what they had to say about themselves. She might even take a whack at the Vulcan Historical Society’s library databases, though she was certain she’d have better luck learning what she needed from the main Golic Archives. She wondered if she had it in her to break into the private records since she knew from previous experience that the so-called “complete” public records were thoroughly truncated and full of redactions. If she got bored later. . .

“Captain, ETA to Spring Valley Station is four hours and nine minutes.” Morgana called out this latest update.

“Why are they pushing us back?”

“Sounds like there’s a traffic jam on approach. An old container ship was clobbered by an Andorian patrol cruiser. According to the alert issued by Spring Valley C-and-C, seven-hundred-million or so raw jacket potatoes are now loose and floating around like a bunch of river rocks.” Morgana put a news report on the main viewer.

“If we didn’t have a delivery and a scheduled pick-up to make, I’d say skip Spring Valley, but we don’t have a choice, not if we want this client to work with us ever again.” Laura decided to not let this irritate her. “According to the time stamp, we’re looking at the scene an hour ago. Unless they get ninety-nine-point-nine percent of those tubers collected, ships will be in trouble. Drop us out of warp and move to full impulse.”

“Yes, Captain.” Morgana complied.

“They’re going to keep revising arrival times, and I’d rather not find us sitting in a flock of possibly unfriendly ships waiting for an approach and berth assignment. I think they’d want to be closed to traffic by now.” Laura watched as a speeding spud smashed the deflector dish on a small runabout.

The helmsman turned around to face Laura. “C-and-C just announced Spring Valley is closed to all incoming and outgoing ships until the clean-up effort has concluded. All vessels are to await further instruction.”

While her mind warned her the crew might have picked up on the reasons behind her accurate predictions, Laura didn’t let them see it. She smirked and said, “ _Damn, I’m good_.”

She left the bridge crew to their own tasks and stepped off to her office. The center chair’s computer console was handy but not up to the workload she put on her office and shed machines. Her bridge terminal was practically a toy. Corliss Fish, MV Sweetness’ previous captain, was something of a technophobe and wanted the electronics he worked with as simplified as possible. Laura had yet to trash out his old station because it was fully integrated into the captain’s chair and that chair was above all else, comfortable.

An hour’s worth of digging got her absolutely nothing in dealing with the stewards of Pezig’s Gate’s past. There was a lot about Old Man Alex, who’d died with a smile on his face, a hooker riding his cock, and a lot of positive zeroes and commas in his bank accounts. She next went for the SHPO’s office. The Sector Historic Preservation Office, run by the Federation government, was useless. Being private meant Pezig’s didn’t have to follow the rules of public archaeology or keep records of any kind. If the Vulcans didn’t have anything, she and Veddah were going in blind.

Before heading down to the mess to pick up dinner for her and Veddah, Laura wanted to make one last check. The front page of the _Los Angeles Times_ clamored about their local hero turned murderous racist. Ready to tuck into reading some of the wrath she’d sewn, Laura selected the leading article. It didn’t finish loading before a new priority one comm demanded her attention.

“Jesus, what is it now, Dan?”

He had a sort of dreamy grin spread across his face. “I saw what you did.”

“Yep. Just like I said I would.” Why wouldn’t he quit with the doe-eyed I-love-you gaze? It was starting to give her the creeps. “And I’m not even done. That was only the first volley.”

“Those doctored test results you sent back to me? I had Fabiana laBoca take a quick look at them, and she declared them authentic. It doesn’t get better than that.” He beamed with the high praise from AVDL’s highest-ranking techspert.

“Remember what I said yesterday, I’m just buying time. That information hasn’t gotten out yet, but it will, and all it takes is a vocal minority of our people, or even the mainstream, to latch onto the idea that I’m a psion, and that’s it, I’m done, my authority completely undermined.”

Like a child learning the truth about Santa Claus, Dan slumped. “ _Please don’t leave me, Laura_.”

“You can’t save me, no one can. Its time to face reality.” She’d never seen Shelley so pathetic and almost felt sorry for him. “There’s an ice pick out there with my name on it.”

“I can protect you.” He pleaded. “I have a new idea. It's crazy but based on rumors that are already circulating. If we have to, we tell your detractors that the Vulcans experimented on you as a child—”

“ _That makes no sense_! All of those stupid fucks out there who think Vulcans are experimenting on us to mutate us into them are part of the tin-foil hat brigade.” Of course, he’d want to run with the dumbest thing he could think of.

“I think it will work.” He nearly cried. “It will make you untouchable.”

“You’re going to hate me for saying this.” She tried to brace him. “There is no logical reason that the Vulcans would use me to test some new gene therapy protocol. None. And in case you’ve forgotten, logic means a lot to them.”

“Please, Laura. Just hear me out.” He acted like he’d reach out and take her hand if he could. “Don’t make me beg.”

What will it hurt? If it made him feel better and let her go eat her dinner, she was open to letting him explain his lunacy. “Don’t beg, Dan. Tell me.”

“So, part of that rumor is that the Greenies are starting to worry about stagnating population growth and that it's due in most part to fertility problems. Our people are guessing that they’ve kind of inbred themselves to the point where they can’t keep going without a fresh infusion of genetic material and that they’ve been developing ways to more easily reproduce with humans.”

Laura didn’t insult or tell him how fucking stupid he sounded. “ _Okay_.”

“They used you in their experimentation because of proximity. You were there, on campus with your mom, nearly every day. That way, they could easily dose you with whatever their treatment was and keep a close eye on you. Then, when you got older, they could see if it worked by having you— By seeing if you could get pregnant with a hybrid the, ah, natural way.” He choked down the bile that rose as he thought about her carrying a half-breed. “Just thinking about it makes me sick—Fucking disgusting.”

“That doesn’t explain the psionic component.”

“It’s a byproduct of those copper-blooded scumbags violating your genetic code.” He had to turn and heave into his wastebasket. The mental images of his Golden Girl wrapped up in the confabulation he’d invented proved too much for his finely honed supremacist senses to take. Wiping his mouth on a handkerchief, he returned to a vertical position. “People want to believe stories like this. It gives their anger righteousness. Their outrage that you’ve uncovered this about yourself will blot out any of the questions people would have about Vulcans acting irrationally toward you. Just the idea that they’d force you to gestate an abomination is enough to push everything to your favor.”

She had to hand it to him, it was almost easy to get her hopes up, but she had to bring him back down to the ground. “Do you ever read the essays I put out for our publications?”

“Sometimes.” He’d always made it known he had better things to do than linger about and read all day.

“Then you might remember the three-part series I did in response to this moronic Vulcans turning humans into Vulcans hysteria? It was six years ago and caused a bit of a stink there in Campbell City.”

“I remember protests about it, but not your articles. I didn’t read those ones, sorry.”

“The reason this rumor makes no sense, the reason why those most interested in taking me out won’t buy into the lies about my being a VSA lab rat, is that the Vulcans already have an entire Clan, almost a million people, who can readily interbreed with humans.”

Dan went pale. “ _What_? You’re making that up.”

“Pre-Reform, they were genetically engineered from scratch to be slaves, and to keep them controllable, the scientists who made them stole DNA from humans. It worked. The slaves were pliant and not prone to the extremes of violent emotions that nearly took out the whole species. Jump forward a few thousand years, the descendants of these slaves are people like Tralnor Ah’delevna MacCormack, Vulcan mother, human father, no help from fertility clinics or geneticists.” She’d given generalities in her writings, but she’d put in enough detail to let the AVDL know there was a whole sub-sect of Vulcans out there even more disgusting than the ones they were used to despising.

“What does that mean?”

“It means there is no justification for rewriting the genetic code of a human child so she can grow up to give birth to Vulcan babies. They treat the descendants of those slaves like the blight, they’re utterly repulsed by the descendants’ human genes, and even more offended by their ability to naturally conceive with humans and Vulcans. Do you get it now, Dan?”

“I get it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

“Goodnight, Dan.”

“Laura, wait!”

She hung up and stared off into the corner for a minute. The next she knew, she was hunting for a snack that was crunchy, salty, and sweet, only to have her abdomen spasm and clench. She made it as quickly to the bathroom as possible, getting situated before she got bloodstains on her panties.

Cleaning up, she tried not to let that old feeling of emptiness consume her. It was hard, though. Part of her still hoped against all odds that the doctors were wrong, that she wasn’t so desolately barren as to be incapable of hosting a new life within her. She’d had the chance to have a hysterectomy years back when she’d given up on the medical and surgical fertility treatments, but hadn’t gone through with it because there was still a bit of a fantasist residing in her head that told her anything was still possible until the menopause brought the gates down completely.

And this month, like she had every month since she was twelve, Laura bled.

Not that exclusively sleeping with a Vulcan would change how her defective reproductive system operated, but. . . Oh, the look on Dan’s face when he thought of her having a Vulcan baby. . .

She had to avoid her reflection because she couldn’t stand to look at the person who’d deny Veddah the chance at being a father.

  
  
  
Spock got into his closet and parted through the hanging clothes to uncover the CABBAGE SOUP MIX box he’d hidden on the floor. He took it to his bed where he pulled back the flaps and was hit straight away with familiar fear and confusion. Maybe, maybe there was a way for this to work. He picked through the still-alien items, remembering Tralnor’s nonjudgmental instruction and encouragement.

Would Jim have the patience to deal with a near-virgin who had to be handled with kid gloves? Could the human accept what it meant to have a lover with Refraction Syndrome? As a psi-null, was he capable of integrating telepathy into a sexual relationship?

Not knowing what, if anything, he should do, he shoved the box back where he’d found it and readied himself for another night of sleeping alone.


	74. Chapter 74

After a seemingly interminable wait, Sha’leyen opened the results on the DNA samples she’d run through the civilian law enforcement databases. The two people whose genetic material joined Radovitch’s in the guts of the server block now had names and faces. Angelica Lawley and Bart Xu were a pair of escorts who worked as a team. Their arrest records were minor. They were done once for littering on Risa after one of them left a piece of luggage on the roof of their vehicle and scattered underpants and sex toys for two blocks and didn’t stop to pick them up. She’d gotten six weeks for shoplifting. He’d spent a year in lockup for participating in a ring that stole and fenced computer equipment from a manufacturer’s refurbishment center.

Cross-checking Enterprise’s ports of call against the escorts put the ship, and therefore Kevin Radovitch, squarely in the timeframe Spock thought the server was tampered with. Now to find out if Lawley and Xu were in on the caper or if Radovitch paid them for their time at Starbase Fortuna VII and took some souvenirs home.

In terms of administration, Fortuna VII was analogous to Vitell’s Star, except Starfleet had an outpost on the station that people liked to call Fort Diplomat. Since the birth of the Federation, Fortuna VII served as a sort of middle-of-the-road meeting ground for accords, treaties, and negotiations. Sha’leyen remembered Enterprise was there to pick up the newly minted Secretary of the Federation and take him for a drive-by of the Romulan Neutral Zone. As far as politicians and diplomats went, the Secretary was well-behaved and one of the better recent guests.

Fortuna VII’s law enforcement officials decided they weren’t going to play along with a Starfleet officer nosing around for details. The detective she contacted accused Starfleet of being entitled and thinking the universe owed its existence to the militaristic organization. When she tried again as a fellow copper, the detective’s face turned red, and he’d shouted something at her about how the Met was too big for its britches and thought it could throw its weight around. He treated her better before he knew she was a DS.

She knew there was a way to pin down Radovitch’s temporary friends. Not having any bioarchaeology or anthropology of any kind on the docket, she had nothing but time to devote to this search during her working hours.

  
  
  


Mollie was putting together her formal leave of absence requests for the university and the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra. She’d decided to ask for the rest of the year, not mentioning that the reason she wanted to get away was her exponentially growing inability to deal with humans. Zadie was excuse enough, it was world news, and Mollie's deans, admins, and concertmaster would understand that desire for escaping to a hotter, quieter place. They were happy to let her come back fresh in January.

The peach blossoms had fallen, and the orchards were the lush green of spring promises. She looked out the music room’s picture windows, glad that hundreds of acres of trees separated her from the sight of the media vultures camped out on the side of Old Highway 99 at the foot of the drive leading up to the Big House.

Early yesterday, someone had thrown Zadie’s dirty laundry out for the universe to see. The press, lacking any imagination whatsoever, assumed Mollie was taking retribution against her murderous ex. Zadie’s cop friends were sniffing around too, making subtle threats about taking her down, only backing the fuck off when they learned of Mollie’s friends in high places. The detail that left these “upstanding” members of the LAPD covering their nuts with their hands and scurrying away was Mollie’s official status as a member of Sarek’s ambassadorial staff.

No one need know that Sarek had “hired” her years ago so she’d stop calling from spaceport/airport/train station detention centers because Customs didn’t believe her citizenship and associated documents were genuine. None of the people who’d championed Zadie’s side of the conflict wanted to start a diplomatic shit-storm, especially with the man Zadie was threatening with assault charges.

_I’d like to thank the intrepid individual who shared Zadie’s greatest hits_ , Mollie thought.

Livia came into the room. “I need to make a call.”

“Give me a second, and I’ll clear out.” Mollie started picking up from her request-writing session.

“No, I want you to stay right where you are and listen in. Don’t comment out loud, but I need your immediate reaction to what’s said.” Livia got the comm ready.

Mollie moved closer to the glass, certain to get out of the camera’s view. “Who am I eavesdropping on?”

Grim line for a mouth, her mother said, “Tatyana Golovkin.”

  
  
  
Dredging up all the records she could, Sha’leyen traced the drifting pair of escorts to Vitell’s Star. Passport checks showed they’d been there a year ago and wound up in Mick Howard’s system because they were falsely accused of shaking down one of their clients. Armed with that, she requested their files from Vitell’s. It took all of half an hour to get a response from her old instructor.

“You Starfleet people keep distracting my team.” He teased. “You, I don’t mind you, but that nosey lot from USS Storm King didn’t know what the hell they were doing. I know military intelligence is an oxymoron, but those bastards were a bloody joke.”

“Did they figure out where Captain Hillyard went?”

Mick allowed a miserable little laugh. “I don’t know that they could find their way back to their own damned ship in the evenings after their useless days monopolizing police time.”

“Well, on to the reason I got in touch. I don’t know why, but Fortuna VII gave me the old backward V when I asked about these vagabond escorts. I didn’t want to harass you again.”

“You are the kind of nuisance I welcome.” He typed a few lines of something into a separate terminal. “And Fortuna VII’s snootiness is summed up in a single word: _politics_. They’ll lose all of those diplomatic events if it gets out that their coppers are willing to share even the most inconsequential shred of information. Discretion is that starbase’s main commodity. That’s why all those ambassadors, ministers, and presidents like meeting there.”

“Secrets are a valuable form of currency.” She didn’t need Fortuna VII’s help. “Did your people get any indication that our escorts were anything more than entertainers?”

“Oh, what’s this, you bring me two interesting cases so close together? Is this related to your AVDL problems?”

“Tangentially.” Radovitch’s attempts at selling information to Hillyard were the only contact between the two if Sha’leyen didn’t count Laura’s maniacal creation of the mass grave and the aftermath as a connection.

“Let me shoot off a quick message to DC True and see if he remembers, and I’ll dig through our records. Don’t be disappointed if we don’t come up with anything. They were only in custody overnight, and charges were never filed.”

“That’s fine, Mick. I’ll be pleased with what I can get.”

  
  
  
The Russian geneticist’s secretary started on the wrong foot, mumbling something about Dr. Golovkin verbally castigating those who dared to interrupt her at work. He thought he could escape detection because he was dealing with a human he didn’t think understood Golic.

Livia saw someone she recognized in the background. “T’Myn, would you inform Tatyana that it’s urgent I speak with her. It’s about her daughter.”

“I will relay the request. Tohma, Livia is an old friend of Tatyana’s.”

Tohma processed Livia’s request and said, “I did not know Dr. Golovkin and Professor Sovon had children.”

“They do not.” T’Myn said. “Livia, give me a moment.”

“Of course.” Livia looked over to Mollie and raised her brows in question. (I wouldn’t go out of my way to advertise that a notorious xenophobe was my kid.)

(I don’t blame her at all.) Mollie tried to remember the interaction she’d seen between Laura and Tatyana. Outside of the VSA, she couldn’t recall ever seeing mother and daughter together. Laura spent nearly one-hundred percent of her time off-campus alone or with her catty school friends.

The screen switched from the secretary’s desk to a private alcove where Golovkin remained out of earshot of her students and staff. “What is the occasion, Livia? I must get back to the bench, so we don’t fall behind.”

“Did T’Myn tell you why I called?”

“She is too timid to deliver news that might set off an emotional reaction in me when she knows I very rarely act out that way. Though she’s worked for me for years, she’s afraid of me.” Tatyana was honey and alabaster, pale, and still impossibly pretty.

“Yes, well, T’Myn’s always been like that. She was supposed to tell you I needed to ask about Laura.”

Tatyana recoiled, betraying her more typical stoicism. “I don’t know where she is, and I don’t want to know.”

“She’s in a lot of trouble right now. I could use your help trying to figure out what made her go the route she did.” Livia didn’t want to lodge any accusations. “She needs help.”

“That child was undiluted trouble from the second she was born. She would do well if she spent the rest of her life hiding from murder charges." Tatyana paused, like she was restating to obvious to someone who was too slow on the uptake. "Livia, some people are beyond help.”

“This is important, Tatyana. There are a lot of lives at stake, and I need to figure her out to keep her from succumbing to the influence of something that will leave thousands dead. You raised Laura and have a unique insight on her.” (She always was a prickly customer.)

(I seem to remember that.) Mollie understood T’Myn’s fear of the geneticist. (Wasn't it something of a joke that the Vulcans were scared of her, not because she was a crazy emotional human, but because she was so damned cold?)

(To the point that the department chair had to take her aside and tell her to dial it back. That was a strange day.)

“ _Thousands_?” Tatyana tested the bait.

“Maybe more.” Livia pulled the line.

“There is not a day that passes that I don’t wish I did better by her. Don’t take this the wrong way, but my daughter and I are the perfect example that not everyone should have children.”

“I’m not here to judge.”

“Alfie Hillyard, my first husband, before we got married, I told him I did not want children. He was content with my decision. He knew that I wanted to place my focus on my work and that I was neither inclined domestically or maternally. We had an understanding.” Tatyana looked away from the comm’s camera.

Livia expressed all the right body language, head tilted, leaned slightly forward, softened expression, affectations Mollie had given up trying to emulate long ago, and did something with her hand that demonstrated an ability to listen without applying biases to what Tatyana divulged. “But you had a baby.”

“Three years into the marriage, Alfie approached me with an ultimatum: I was to give him a child, or he would divorce me. His rationale was he thought I’d change my mind once we were married, so when I didn’t, he changed it for me. I was a fool. I thought I was in love and that he loved me too. I bargained with me, with him, that if I had a baby, he would act as the primary caretaker and he’d keep it out of my way. All would be well.”

“But that didn’t happen?”

“I let him impregnate me. After forty weeks of misery, she was born. The doctors were shocked when I told them to give her to her father and not drape her over my breast like a lapdog. One of the nurses yelled at me that I should be grateful I had such a beautiful baby. I told her I was merely a broodmare for my husband’s little. . . Then I told her to stop being a jealous sow and leave me alone.” Tatyana lacked any of Laura’s wit or passion. “At first, Alfie was infatuated, but at the same time, he kept trying to force me to turn into a mushy cooing mess and act like I was interested in her. She was his little dress-up dolly, not mine.”

Ice crystals formed in Mollie’s blood just from listening to this woman. (Everyone knew Laura was a nasty twat and wondered where it came from. Holy shit. This is telling and terrifying at the same time.)

(It’s not an excuse for Laura’s choices.) Livia hit back.

(That’s not what I meant, Mom. Laura’s personality was heavily influenced by this woman. I hesitate to call Tatyana a mother. Who describes their child as a doll?)

“When did your husband lose interest in Laura?”

“She was a toddler when the novelty wore off. He was the stay-at-home parent, as he’d wanted, and came crying to me one day when she was about three, telling me he was bored and commanded that I shoulder my share of the parental burden. I reminded him of our bargain. The ball was in my court. My post at UCLA allowed him to live a comfortable life where he flirted with and fucked all the mommies, nannies, and au pairs he met at story-times and playgrounds, got to spend the days attending to his little toy, and all he had to do in the evenings was offer me a little attention. I gave him everything he’d demanded of me.”

“So, she was close to her father?” Livia’s mind had a hard time processing what she heard.

“I think by this point, she was less a doll and more of a way to garner attention from sympathetic women.” Tatyana shrugged. “And, I didn’t care who he was fucking on the side so long as he came back home to me at night. I thought it was a good arrangement though it was unfortunate that a child got tangled up in our relationship. When he asked if we might hire a nanny so he could step back on the obligation he’d assumed, I told him to pack his shit, including his dolly, and find a way to pay for his own damned nanny. When I said social services would arrange for emergency accommodations if he got down to the intake offices before they closed for the day, he returned to his senses. Imagine that?”

“How did it become just you and Laura in ShiKahr?” Livia had the professional bearing she used when coaxing reluctant patients to part with items in their medical histories they considered too embarrassing to share. She didn’t want Tatyana to slow in her divulgence.

Tatyana’s face adopted a glower. If her ex was in the room at that moment, she’d have throttled him. Time didn’t heal some wounds. “The VSA poached me from UCLA. They offered me opportunities here not available on any human world. I had to take the position. You know exactly what I mean, Livia, with the beloved children you helped to create.”

“Of course I know, Tatyana. You’d have been mad to pass on the chance.”

“ _I thought my daughter was wanted_. . . If I’d known what was to come, I wouldn’t have had her. I’d have made Alfie exit my life long before we married. She’s paid an exorbitant price for mine and Alfie’s selfish desires.

“Where your children, Mollie and Spock, had mothers who went so far as to relinquish their earth citizenship, abandoning part of yourselves, to secure the lives of your babies, my daughter has parents who didn’t deserve the honor of having her.” Tatyana coughed, trying to keep her emotions buried. “I’ve seen the news photos of you, Justin, Theresa, and Lady Amanda burning your passports in front of the earth embassy. You were brave for your children. You fought for your children. Look how they turned out in comparison to mine.”

Mollie, still blurry-minded from Tatyana’s earlier declarations, said to her mother, (At least she can cop to screwing up.)

“The plan was for me to come to ShiKahr by myself for the first year. My husband and child would follow once I was established. What happened was not easy on the girl. Alfie walked out on her. She thinks I stepped in and forbade her from staying on earth with him, that I tried to keep her from ever seeing him again, when the truth is he left me a letter telling me he was gone for good, don’t try to contact him. He didn’t feel it was fair that he be burdened by a child he now claimed he never wanted. She was abandoned. I’ve never been able to bring myself to tell her the truth.”

Tatyana stopped looking at the camera entirely, focusing her eyes on the desk. “Alfie’s family didn’t want her, and my parents were too infirm to take her. I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping her with me to at least oversee her education, putting her in Vulcan schools where someone of her intellect could truly excel. . . At least she’d have the best credentials to somewhat make up for having such a shit mother. After I was told all she needed to do was sit the entrance exams to get into the schools, as a technicality based on her past academic performance, she tested into the top tier of the system here. She was barred, twice.”

Livia and Mollie looked to one another, not quite believing Tatyana’s claim. (Did you know this, Mollie?)

(No.) Mollie wondered why Laura had stayed at Consolidated. By the time she’d come back to Vulcan, Mollie was forced through the humans’ history curriculum and first encountered Laura there. (I always thought she should have gone to the same school as Spock, where the emphasis was on more practical scientific applications than the psionic buttressing we did so much of at my school. She’d have been a good fit there.)

Livia waved at the camera, trying to get back Tatyana’s undivided attention. “Why was Laura rejected?”

“It was devastating for her to know she wasn’t good enough to study amongst the Vulcans because she was a human psi-null.”

“ _Are you certain_? That’s what you were told?” (Mollie, any corroboration on that claim?)

(That’s the first I’ve heard.) Mollie felt the pit of her stomach pitch into an abyss. (Laura never said anything about why she was trapped at Consolidated.)

“It took me two years just to learn that much. I had to lay some _blat_ in the right places to get any answer at all.” The Russian word for bribe or favor only added to the peculiarity of Laura’s situation.

“Tatyana, that doesn’t sound right.” (If it's true, what happened was completely illegal.) Livia’s mind went chasing after any sensical description of why a child with Laura’s potential would be turned away.

(Vulcans can be arrogant and bigoted, but you’re right, what they did was against the law. Something strange happened back then.) Mollie wondered if it was possible to discover the truth of the matter.

“In a way.” Tatyana almost leveled her head with the horizon. “I almost can’t blame her for hating them.”


	75. Chapter 75

“Commander Blaedel and the JAG here on Starbase 21 have, in conjunction with the UFP Attorney’s Office, decided to break the espionage part of Radovitch’s shit-baggery into two cases.” Kirk, seated at the helm for nostalgia’s sake, turned and relayed the news to Spock. “He’s still going to get done for grave-robbing first. Starfleet gets him again for industrial spying. Then, UFP can use the favorable outcomes from the Starfleet cases as part of their prosecution into the civilian offenses. That creepy asshole is done for.”

“He will not have the defense that the contributors of the number two and three DNA profiles found in Block 32 were involved in the crime. Sha’leyen tracked the couple to Founder IV in the Ansett System. They are merely a pair of registered escorts.” 

Spock seemed glad that Radovitch was trapped in a cage of his own making. “I too am starting to believe Sohja’s theory that Radovitch perpetrated these industrial crimes to damage his successful father. Sohja spoke to some people she knows who are in the same social circles as Jerry Radovitch, and it appears that Kevin was not going to have access to the trust fund his father established. It was in the process of being revoked. She will keep us updated as more information comes to light in the civilian business world.”

“Have you figured out which of our projects were worth stealing the information and selling into the private sector?” Kirk was slightly jealous that Spock and some of his computer guys actually had something to work on.

“Based on Violet Crest Industries’ broad interests, we are developing a comprehensive list of everything Enterprise is researching and designing they would pay for. We send every draft to Commander Blaedel.”

Kirk wanted to keep Spock talking. It was so nice to hear the man’s voice, and in this setting, just the two of them, alone on the bridge, stirred a deep longing. _Be casual, Jimmy_ , he thought as he turned back toward the viewscreen. “Do you want to see if we can squeeze in a chess match between dinner and whatever fun Dr. Tralnor has planned for tonight?”

He wasn’t ignored, wasn’t walked out on, didn’t get stared down, the captain felt like two adults who didn’t hate each other were interacting like normal people. “Or some other time?”

“I am not ready yet, Jim.”

“That’s fine, Spock.” _Jim, Jim, Jim_! _You called me Jim_. “We can tackle chess later.”

Kirk felt as if he could fly away on that one word alone. He may have smiled where Spock saw him. _You called me Jim_!

  
  
  
Veddah spent most of his abundant downtime in his cell, reading any number of books borrowed from Laura’s personal library. Trusted to the point where he was not chained to the wall, he didn’t have to ask someone to come in and escort him to the restroom or have someone watch over as he bathed. All he had to do was not pop the access panels in the room and free himself or cause trouble for the rest of the ship, and he was mercifully left alone save for mealtimes.

Signe, the gentle but intellectually slow cook, brought him his food when Laura could not. She was just leaving with his empty plate, happy that he complimented her culinary skills, and he returned to the history he’d started reading earlier in the day. He thought he was in for another afternoon of learning more about humans and their past when his eyes began to burn and a tickle settled in the back of his throat and in his sinuses.

The cook didn’t wear perfume, and there were no new fragrances amongst the toiletries he was given. Nothing in the cell had changed, yet it was like he was having an allergic reaction to some particulate in the air. Setting the book aside, he took stock of his physical being and reached a startling conclusion. This was not his reaction to anything.

It was Laura, and the nearest description he had for her state of mind was that she’d hit into a state of despondency. The anguish crossing over the bond was the first emotion of hers he’d experienced in such vivid urgency. Even when he’d seen and felt her lashing out and portraying purple-faced anger, the actions, the feelings, were anchored in goal-oriented desires. Yes, she’d been genuinely angry when the young men in that restaurant threatened Veddah, but what she showed was far more explosive than what she’d felt. She’d wanted to protect him, which she couldn’t let the humans in the cafe see, that was the more pressing need he’d gotten from her.

This was different. Interwoven with strands of betrayal, her heartache was total, an invigoration of an old wound. During the day, he always tried to keep to himself, but this laceration begged for soothing. (Adun’a, can I help?)

The wordless rockslide of desperation he got in return to his offer made the nerves in his teeth hurt. Coming up through the smothering pain, he faced another realization, she acutely wanted his assistance.

  
  
  
While Mollie called from California, the Enterprise contingent of the Kennuk sat in contemplative silence. All four of them attended and graduated from Vulcan secondary schools and could not think of a scenario in which an academically worthy student would be shut out because they didn’t possess any inborn skills as a telepath.

“Livia is correct. Something’s rotten in ShiKahr’s admissions office.” Sha’leyen shook her head. “I don’t like this. My law enforcement experience is telling me that this was deliberate, but not because she was human or a psi-null. Someone or a group of someones wanted Laura isolated. You say that she spent a lot of her time on campus at the VSA. Do you know what she was doing?”

Mollie lost most of her coloring, even in the bad light of the room she’d called from, Sha’leyen saw her pale. “The libraries. . . She spent an inordinate amount of time in the libraries, at least until they started limiting her access.”

Spock knew what Mollie meant. “I believe she was told since she was neither a student nor a member of faculty, that she was over-utilizing the facilities.”

“And that’s complete bullshit because the VSA’s library system is open to all members of the public. The only restrictions are to special collections, but that’s true for almost every university library.” Tralnor said. “I know she spent copious amounts of time at the genetics department and was a lab assistant for Tatyana and the members of that research cohort. Where I was T’Lal and Theresa’s dish bitch, Laura was a contributing member of the team. I know there are articles and posters that should have her as one of the lower-listed co- authors, but she’s not on them, and I don’t know why. We’d run into one another at the media stores, and on days when she was feeling civil, which was rare, she talked about the work she was doing, and how she was slighted because she was just a kid attending Consolidated. Spock and Mollie were first authors on their own research, and Laura was being used by her mother’s colleagues.”

“I did not know about that.” Spock said before he and Mollie exchanged a glance that showed how little they knew about this person who’d gone out of her way to rudely interject herself into their lives and wreak any havoc she could.

“Consolidated didn’t do well by her either.” Mollie said. “She was extremely bored, ignored by faculty in favor of other students, and became a behavioral problem. They never addressed the bullying she doled out, never gave her enough to do, never encouraged her interests, and now that I think about it, and I’m sure Tralnor remembers this too, Laura was consistently faced with scheduling conflicts that kept her out of the university track maths and sciences because Consolidated’s admins insisted on stuffing her into drama and art classes.”

“We all had concert band after history on those horrid Fridays.” Tralnor continued. “She covered auxiliary percussion because she didn’t actually play an instrument and couldn’t get out of band.”

Mollie still hadn’t gotten the color back in her face. “People used to ride her case when she’d get upset saying she thought Consolidated was actively working against her, that the Vulcans were actively working against her. After what Tatyana said, I’m starting to think that maybe Laura wasn’t so paranoid after all.”

“Do we have any additional insight into her life-support link with Lt. Veddah?” Sha’leyen had run several scenarios in her mind throughout the day and each time came to the same conclusion as Livia the night before. Saving Veddah meant saving Laura, no matter how despicable a creature she was.

“I don’t think so.” Mollie said.

“Our deeper understanding of her background will make it easier to take her into custody and talk to her about her crimes.” Spock, not necessarily one to grant leeway to people based on their histories, decided to take these revelations into Laura’s past as advantages.

“Whatever we can use to our favor.” Sha’leyen wasn’t liking the ambiguity Laura was taking on. It was so much easier to pursue and crush someone who was straight-up evil. This nuanced layering gave her some humanity, motivation, and points Sha’leyen could identify with. Laura had transitioned from pure villain to in-depth antagonist.

Given a few ticks of silence, Sha’leyen went on to say, “Its time to put our plan into action. Mollie, how soon can you get to Starbase 21?”

  
  
  
At Laura’s request, a crewman called Ahlman escorted Veddah to the captain’s stateroom. He’d never interacted with this person before. He expected silence or even a couple of nasty digs about being a green-blooded devil spawn, but Ahlman prattled on about any and every topic that popped into his mind.

“So, after I dropped out of the Trego Delta Merchant Marine Academy, I bummed around for a while. Then I got lucky and happened into MV Sweetness one day when they were hiring off the docks. I spent three years doing nothing but loading and unloading cargo. Had some good times down there in the holds. . .”

Veddah listened because it distracted his mind from Laura’s pangs.

“You know, Starfleet, if Commander Franklin didn’t get in a dick measuring contest with Captain Hillyard, none of that woulda happened down there on that diamond world. You wouldn’t be here right now.” Ahlman’s expression showed all the expletives he thought described Franklin. “If I was you, I’d be mad at that bastard. Sweetness won’t hide her specks, so whatever your ship’s sensors read, he had to know we outgunned him by a lot.”

He didn’t like to think about USS Seren’s demise, how it was all preventable, but one man’s ego destroyed fifty-two lives. Veddah didn’t let an emotional response build about his commanding officer, though Franklin’s poor decision-making put the young Vulcan in an ugly bind.

“Shit, Sweetness is bigger than them little patrol boats Starfleet has such a hard-on for. Our engines are more powerful. Who did your guy think he was fooling?” They stepped on the lift where Ahlman rearranged and scratched his balls. “What a dumb fuck.”

Not two seconds of silence lapsed and Ahlman was off again. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Starfleet, that you got laid by Captain Hillyard.”

What was this, another jealous human male thinking he might challenge Veddah? Ahlman had no comprehension of how hard he’d lose this match.

“I’ve seen with my own two eyes—You ever heard of a donkey show?” Ahlman’s incredulity at Franklin shifted to grim disgust. “Nevermind. When I went on my first leave, some of us went to a brothel there on Vitalis. I guess whenever Doc Hoskins is there, he makes a mint on the side by fucking some poor bastards up on this stage. The Doc’s dick is the size of a grown man’s arm, and he’s a mean motherfucker in the sack. There was so much blood and screaming that I puked right there. I swear, when Hoskins was done with that sad son-of-a-bitch, the guy’s guts were falling out. Holy shit, you are so fucking lucky.”

Off the lift, down the corridor, Ahlman was halfway through telling a joke when Laura’s door opened in anticipation of Veddah’s arrival. The crewman said goodbye and Veddah entered the dim room, glad to be rid of the talkative escort.

(You are unwell, Adun’a.) He took his place next to her on the bed. The physical connection unleashed a new, stronger yearning for him.

(I’m perfectly fine.) She placed her head on his chest and leaned into him. (My body is doing exactly what its supposed to.)

(I do not understand.)

(I don’t think I can explain how much I still desperately want to have a baby, even though I know it's not possible.) She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent, comforted by the familiarity. (I shouldn’t be this upset because my period started. _I know that I’m sterile_. Nothing can change that fact no matter how much I daydream.)

He moved as to wrap his arms around her. The simple comfort he offered was enough to take the edge off her pain. A nebulous feeling of thanks came through the bond.

(People have left me because I can’t have children. Arik used to goad me about not being a real woman since I couldn’t give him a baby. That’s another reason you need to go back to T’Danna. I can’t deny you a chance at fatherhood. It’s not fair.)

The analogue clock she kept on her desk ticked eleven times when he said, (Your worth is not measured in your ability to successfully reproduce. I take you as you are.)

(It’s not right to do that to you. . . You’d be a wonderful father, and I’m taking that away.) This longing she had for motherhood began when she was a little girl. He couldn’t find any of what his human female crew and classmates called biological ticking, her reasons ran beyond that instinctual need. She didn’t give Veddah the details, but he knew this was not a recent desire on her part.

(There are other ways to have children.) He worded it in an ideal abstract where prison sentences and ice picks were not a part of their reality. (Should we successfully get you away from the AVDL, we can explore those options.)

(That sounds too much like hope.) She turned her face completely into him and let his clothes and skin soak up her tears.

This complicated soul in his arms made him question everything he thought were the supports on which he’d constructed his life. Laura should not exist in this state, not if Vulcan and the Federation functioned they way their moral and social obligations were written down. Shunned by his people as well as her own, she’d gone to the one subset of the human population who seemed to value her. Human supremacists welcomed her with open arms, gave her a sense of belonging, the satisfaction of being needed, and offered her creative avenues for her outsized intellect. What he knew of her family, a mother who didn’t want her and a father who disappeared from her life, no siblings, no extended relatives, and that she was mostly alone if she wasn’t working for her mother as an employee at the genetics department, he understood the appeal of a group that picked up the slack where her parents and teachers fell down on the job.

She was horrible and amazing and she was his.


	76. Chapter 76

Leonard McCoy’s hand hovered above the send button, requesting that Christine take a transfer to the next available assignment. The woman needed to get the hell off the Enterprise and the hell out of his department. The last couple of days, she’d gone from hysterical to damned-near incompetent. She was still fuming over Joan’s description of Seltun and Sarah’s date. Her fixation was affecting her work, and when it came to McCoy’s patients, he had to tell himself not to feel guilty about reporting her to the Starfleet Nursing Board. Lives were on the line and so was Chapel’s career.

Deep breath, eyes closed, letter sent, the mood that came over him was one of boredom wading into depression. He knew with medical and scientific certainty why his brain was throwing him to the ground like this and all he could think was that Ari’s people needed to come through soon before everyone aboard the Enterprise lost their damned minds.

He forced himself not to bother his friend, muttering, “It’s a good thing I respect you, Ari, or I’d be up your ass about why the stars outside my window are static and I can see Dragon in suspended animation, both of us caged at a starbase. If I wanted to see the same thing when I pulled back the curtains every morning, I’d have stayed in Georgia.”

Obsessively, he’d started checking his messages multiple times an hour. He didn’t know if Ari would get word when the Advanced Aerospace team took off for Starbase 21. When there was nothing to do, like now, he’d hit the refresh button like a lab animal hit a bar to get food.

While giving some thought to participating in a fly fishing workshop some group was putting on over at the starbase, a new message landed in his queue. Not Ari.

Tamsin Rhoades, Doctor of Nursing Practice, Acting Director of the Starfleet Nursing Board’s swift response gave McCoy a lurch. Fleet Nurses were a tight bunch who looked out for one another, so this was either a form letter saying she’d be in touch soon or something telling him to appreciate how stressful frontline nursing was and to cut Chapel a break. That was his experience with the previous Director and he expected more of the same from Dr. Rhoades.

_Effective immediately, Christine Chapel, RN, is restricted to administrative duty only. No direct patient contact is allowed. This status will remain until the Board has completed an investigation into Chapel’s job performance, wherein she will be evaluated and the Board will determine the status of her licensure and her ability to continue in the field_.

After reading that, he hated to say it, there was a cool lick of relief salving the irritation and concern Christine afflicted on him. He’d made her take yesterday off while contemplating suspending her, but he felt he needed a word from the Nursing Board so he had their advice working for or against him in any justification he might have to show to Starfleet Medical should Chapel attempt to appeal his decision. Dr. Rhoades had actually made this easier.

He sent a message to Nurse Chapel asking that she meet with him at 10:30. Noticing the time, he got up to make his morning rounds, when the desk terminal pinged at him.

_My friend wanted me to let you know the orders went out today. Your Adv. Aero team is leaving from San Diego and Seattle in 48hrs. The Cavalry is rolling. Good Luck!—A_.

_Excellent_ , he thought.

  
  
  
Two-and-a-half days late getting to Spring Valley Station thanks to their Jacket Potato Incident, MV Sweetness encroached on the taxi lanes leading to their assigned berth when primary and auxiliary communications went down.

“Morgana, report.” Laura had been in the middle of finalizing the docking fees when the link fizzled. “Someone get me a diagnostic. I have a feeling we’ve been Russet Burbanked, but let’s make sure it's Spring Valley’s fuck up and not ours.”

“Ancillary comm beacon launched, Captain.” Morgana didn’t get excited, she just did her job.

“The station is going to run security scans before we dock since C and C can’t talk directly to us right now.” Silvio struggled to wipe the smug satisfaction from his tone. “They’re going to have questions about Vulcan life signs showing up on a boat from Trego Delta. I hope you’re prepared to say goodbye to your pet.”

“It’s not like you to underestimate me, Mr. Mazzi.” Laura could taste the bitter jealousy gushing from Silvio’s mind.

“Beacon is at full range.”

“Got it, Morgana.”

_Mr. Mazzi! Who the fuck does she think she is_? Silvio’s brain screeched.

“Ask if they want us to hold here for a scan or continue on approach?” Laura popped a couple of knuckles like she had no cares in the universe. She’d kept Veddah wearing the biosign overwrite necklace since their descent to Trego. She knew before they were sealed in that crate that he’d have to keep it on for moments like this. _You’re not getting rid of him that easily, Silvio_.

Her first officer tugged at his ear. “What was that, boss?”

She turned and eyed him like he was touched. “You must be hearing things.”

“I could have sworn. . .” He shook his head. “Well, shit.”

“Request relayed that we hold until an escort shuttle gives us a once-over.” Morgana announced. “ETA approximately forty minutes.”

_I bet you I could figure out a way to clone Morgana. I could use another ten of her_. “I’m going to go grab a sandwich. Silvio, you know what to do.”

She got to the lift and was selecting the deck when Silvio’s giant ham of a hand stopped the door from closing. He squeezed into the car, nearly getting the bottom cuffs of his boiler suit caught in the mechanism. “What the fuck was that back there, Laura?”

He didn’t like it when she offered no answer. “Laura?”

“I’m the Captain of this ship. I don’t answer to you.” How many times had they had this same damned conversation, only before it was about how he was pissed that she was in charge instead of him. This gross envy he had of Veddah was more dangerous than workplace disgruntlement.

“You don’t have to rub my fucking nose in it.” He said. “The crew all think I’ve got a tiny dick and I can’t get it up anymore since you’ve taken up with that _creature_ of yours.”

“And what? You want me to get on the PA and set them straight by telling them how adequate it is? That you’re pretty good, but not great in bed? Why do you care what a gaggle of unwashed, uneducated crewmen think of your genitals? You outrank them.”

He blinked at her like he’d not thought of it that way. These weren’t his buddies, they were his subordinates. He needed to remember that. His worries over what inconsequential people thought of him hampered his leadership ability. Whether he liked it or not, he simply didn’t have the chops to take up permanent residency in the center seat.

“You know something?” He followed her off the lift toward the mess. “You’ve been kinda strange since we stole those diamonds. You’re not going to get us in trouble, are you?”

Snickering as she chose her lunch, she said, “Trouble? What kind of responsible Captain and business manager do you think I am?”

  
  
  
Admiral Holt wasn’t amused, but she wasn’t pissed either. “I thought I told you to behave yourself, Captain Kirk.”

This wasn’t the time for any of his boyish charms. “It’s not me. I swear.”

“Advanced Aerospace Research and Design just so happens to hear that a Constitution Class ship is sitting idle and is ripe to become their newest experiment? Don’t screw with me, Jim.” She honestly wanted to know how he’d pulled off his upcoming escape from the pound. “How did you do it?”

“It was Dr. McCoy.” A sly, playful inflection teased her and held his hands up to protest his innocence. “I shit you not, Admiral.”

“You lot sure are sneaky bastards.”

“Um, thanks?” What could he say to that?

“Be careful out there.” She gave a slight if approving smile. “Godspeed, and we’ll worry about Nogura later.”

  
  
  
If Mollie was nervous, then Joe was falling apart. T’Lal took them down to Bakersfield for their shuttle licensing. She explained that it was a big enough airfield to give them some traffic to work against, but not so large as to put them in a quagmire of rush-hour proportions.

Joe was called first. He wiped his sweaty hands on the legs of his jeans and joined the examiner on the walk out to Shuttle Direct No.742. So long as the test administrator didn’t have anything against certifying pilots cussing like sailors, Mollie knew he’d do fine.

(You are pensive, Mallia. Do not stress about the test or your upcoming journey.) T’Lal offered support while they watched Joe power up and turn on his running lights.

(I can’t stop thinking about Laura or the young man she’s with. Is there something Spock and I could have done to help her out? How did we miss that she was in such a bad place?)

(Neither of you are Far Seers, social workers, or mental health professionals. As young as you were, Laura Hillyard was beyond your ability to cope with. She and my son had some discourse and from what he has told me of her thought patterns and behavior, she was lost long before you cropped up in one another’s lives.) T’Lal traced Joe’s taxi path, green eyes moving with him until he went airborne and disappeared from view.

Mollie couldn’t decide if her Aunt’s assurances made her feel better or worse. Like Joe arranging for their friends to meet only for them to become murder victims, Mollie couldn’t kick the idea that maybe if she’d tried to build a friendship with Laura instead of antagonizing her right back that the acceptance of one genuine friend may have steered this Titanic away from the iceberg.

T’Lal’s phone started going off. She looked down at the readout, stood, and walked away. Mollie didn’t ask where she was going, didn’t follow, and continued to gaze out the window, waiting for Joe to come back having scored well above a basic passing grade.

Subdivided, Mollie sent part of her consciousness to seek peace in a quasi-meditative state, the other part started thinking about her coming journey. The calm helped her brace for the looming chaos.

“I must go.” T’Lal handed Mollie the lock fob for her car. “Starfleet is sending me out on a short mission.”

“The timing couldn’t be worse.” Mollie said. “But, we’ll have to survive without you.”

“I will not speculate as to their reasoning for choosing me to complete this task.” T’Lal took a step back. “However, I will see you very soon.”

How would that work? Mollie wondered. “See me soon?”

“Advanced Aerospace is sending me to the USS Enterprise.”

  
  
  
Spring Valley Station claimed responsibility for the damage done by a clump of rogue potatoes since their cleanup crews had claimed they’d collected all the tubers. Now, Sweetness was put in for vital repairs instead of the quick in and out cargo exchange as originally planned. The ship had to have working communications equipment.

Laura assigned her lead engineer and two of his guys to keep close tabs on the techs and mechanics from the station. She didn’t want other people laying hands on Sweetness, but there wasn’t much choice and there wasn’t anyone else they could turn to. Spring Valley was too isolated to have any other options.

She ordered the human Starfleet prisoners sealed back into the cargo container they’d come up in from Melbek III. This way Franklin and his people couldn’t attempt to get anyone’s attention. Veddah would remain in his cell. The shuttle scan hadn’t discovered Laura’s secret husband and the shuttle crew hadn’t cared about the number of souls aboard Sweetness, nor did they ask for crew manifests.

“Seeing as we’re going to be here for a couple of days, Silvio, put together a list of who can get off and stretch their legs and when. I’ve got to go over right now and get the station’s insurance paperwork signed off on and who knows what other dumb stuff so we don’t threaten to sue them.” Laura bid Silvio and Morgana a good day.

To get from Sweetness and into the station proper, she had to go through something like an immigration barrier that passengers might face. This was different and the first time she’d seen cargo haulers subjected to such scrutiny. The line clipped along and soon it was her turn to fork over her ID and step through a bioscanner. That’s when it made sense to her, Spring Valley was an agricultural weigh station and stopover. They were trying to prevent diseases and invasive species from spreading.

The customs agent in her line was a giddy young woman who took Laura’s passport went from stupidly happy for no reason to exploding like a super-volcano with joy. “Congratulations on your little one, Captain Pichushkin.”

Laura halted and gawped at her. “Excuse me?”

“It’s still pretty early, but I’m sure you’re excited.” Vacant eyes, like those of a cow, matched the idiocy the woman spouted.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Laura just wanted this dumbass to scan her fucking passport so she could return to her ship.

Inane smile not fading, the young woman said, “We’ve got very sensitive scanners here at Spring Valley. You’re not the first person I’ve delivered this amazing news to.” She hit a couple of candy-colored buttons. “We can see the commingling of two types of humanoid DNA within you. There’s yours and—”

Weakness invaded Laura’s knees and upset her balance. “ _Are you trying to fuck with me_?”

“I’m just saying that early pregnancy can go unnoticed and that—”

Silenced by Laura’s severe frown and angry stare, the customs agent tried to do her job and fumbled.

“I got laid last night.” Laura said flatly. “So, I’m carting around someone else’s DNA. Understood?”

“Um? So you’re not happy? Babies are so cute.”

“Did you comprehend a fucking word I said?” Laura leaned in so she might get into this person’s face. “Have you taken let alone passed junior high biology? If you had, you’d know that sperm cells can stay alive in the human female reproductive tract for up to five days after they’ve been deposited. _There is no happy, no baby, no pregnancy_ , just an angry starship captain with leftover traces of fun adhering to my vaginal walls.” She silently thanked the fates she’d not suffered a repeat of the semen plug.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Captain.” The young woman sensed she’d rumbled the wrong badger. “I’m sorry.”

“A decade and a half of fertility treatments failed me. You don’t go around saying shit like ‘congrats on your little one,’ to random people coming through your line, not when there are some out there who’d give almost anything to have a child.”

It dawned on the customs agent what she’d done. The goofiness fled and she fell into reality. “I am so sorry.”

“Give me my fucking passport so I can take care of my business and get the hell out of here.”


	77. Chapter 77

Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy were elated, absolutely pleased with themselves that they’d routed Admiral Nogura. When they finally saw fit to let Spock in on their mischief, he was thoroughly waylaid by their announcement.

“Spock, you should be glad we’re getting the hell out of here.” McCoy was close to dancing.

“It’s a step closer to finding out who murdered your friends.” Kirk tried to keep his demonstrable emotion to a palate acceptable for a man in his position but couldn’t stave off the heady glee he felt.

“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer.” The doctor added.

“I do not think this is the cause for celebration you believe it to be.” Spock said.

“ _Just like that, just like that_. What did I say he’d do, Jim?”

“Six days, Spock.” The captain nearly pleaded for a positive reaction. “They’ll be here in six days and we’re back on the hunt for Laura Hillyard.”

“Advanced Aerospace is not going to let us go anywhere or do anything we please. Every move the Enterprise makes for the duration of their testing is approved and monitored by that team. Effectively, this crew is simply along for the ride.” Spock was disconcerted. How had Kirk and McCoy thought this was a viable idea let alone a clever one?

“One does protest too much.” McCoy smirked at the Vulcan and half-rolled his eyes. “Enterprise is Jim’s ship. We’ve got this.”

“You do not know what you have invited.” His frustration grew. “Is there a team roster or a preview of the tests they will be running?”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Kirk’s expression softened, and he took on a more concerned, more intimate tone. “Let’s just take advantage of escaping Starbase 21 and fulfill our immediate objectives.”

“Captain, you should have consulted me before turning our ship over to the Skunk Works.” _This is an ominous development_ , Spock thought.

“Spock, you would have refused without even hearing me out.”

“Because it is my job. As the first officer, it is my responsibility to act as a counterbalance to your decision making should the course of action you choose be potentially harmful to the crew and this vessel.” Kirk simply didn’t get what he was saying.

“Stop overreacting.” McCoy sniped.

“I am not overreacting, Doctor. I am stating the coming reality. Advanced Aerospace does not simply show up on a ship, install a module, and monitor from behind the scenes. When they run a test, they run everything. Captain, you and I will be effectively locked out of command, kept in reserve should we be needed. Otherwise, we might as well be figureheads for the duration.” He tied back the disgust that oozed up through the fissures of his mind, not wanting to lecture the captain on the perils of making impulsive, uninformed, and immediately emotionally satisfying choices.

 _I was just_ —Kirk thought at Spock. _I was just trying to do what was best for the crew, but to get that done, I had to do it my way_!

“This conduct implies that you do not trust me to make the right decisions, that I was just another obstacle to be bypassed, like Admiral Nogura.” Spock gave them a few seconds to launch responses. They were reconsidering their impetuousness. It was too late to dial back the clock on this one. “Captain, Doctor, I have work to do toward the Radovitch case, including a call with Sohja that is scheduled twelve minutes from now. I will be in my office should you feel the need to consult me on any other command decisions.”

  
  
  
“ _Goddamn_ , he’s pissed.” McCoy said when he could finally stop his jaw from hanging at the verbal lashing Spock handed out.

“That went not at all like I thought it would.” Kirk sank his forehead into his hands, wanting to disappear. “I figured he’d get a little punchy, but that he’d understand why we did this the way we did. Shit.”

“Seeing as things are still pretty raw between you, let me go and try to present some sensical reasoning to him. I can chuck psych journal citations and stats at him all day. He’ll like that and might even come around to our side.” McCoy patted Kirk on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Bones.”

“I’ll catch you later, Jim.” McCoy ran his fingers through his hair as he left.

 _You can’t stop fucking this up, can you Jimmy_?

  
  
  
Luggage stashed in the tiny cargo closet aboard ShuttleDirect No.742, Mollie sealed the door and initiated the pressurization cycle. She checked the time, entered some commands into the console, and so it was barely over nine hours after she earned her license, she was following directives from regional air traffic control and waiting for the switch to Orbital 3’s space traffic center. From Orbital 3, she’d get the handoff to Saturn 11, and the coordinates from which she could start picking up speed.

“Starbase 21 or bust.” She said to the empty passenger cabin.

  
  
  
Kirk signed off for the day, molars aching, and brain racing from the constant looping thoughts about Spock’s bad reaction and speculation about what Advanced Aerospace might do to his silver lady. The follicles on his scalp crawled. Bones didn’t give any hints how his discussion with the first officer went other than to say Kirk needed to address Spock in person.

 _Maybe he won’t deliberately avoid me_? Kirk purposefully walked past his quarters and stopped in front of a familiar door. Finger within millimeters of pressing the buzzer, the portal opened. “I was hoping we could have a word?”

Spock gave a slight nod, turned around, and moved into the cabin, not closing the door. Kirk took that as an invitation. Once everything closed and they were isolated, the captain started on what felt like the thousandth apology to this man in as many hours. He admitted that he was out of line, inviting others to experiment on the Enterprise, no input from Spock.

“It is unproductive to be remorseful, Captain. In the future, it would behoove you to share your intentions with me before selecting a path of resolution.” Spock still looked rankled. “What causes me the most concern, however, is that you may have made these decisions to upend Nogura’s orders on your own because of the personal issues between us.”

Jim opened his mouth to answer, but his jaw hung there, bobbing for a few seconds. _Oh Christ, I didn’t think of it that way. What if that’s what I did_? “You know me, Spock, almost better than anybody. I keep my private life separate from what happens in the center seat.”

He wasn’t buying it to such an extent, Kirk didn’t even get the niggle of a slanted brow questioning him.

“Look, I don’t want you getting reprimanded for something crazy that I’ve done. But this thing with Advanced Aerospace, it was a chance I had to jump at before the lingering aftermath of Melbek III crushes us all.” Jim stepped closer to the Vulcan, mostly to sniff the air around him and take in his physical presence in a way that didn’t involve touch.

Spock decreased the distance between them to a degree that reaching out and connecting was less than an arm’s length. Whatever he might have said went to mute. Jim had two choices right then, walk away or—

Kirk caught a fistful of blue velour and tugged the slightly taller man to him. Lips met and mouths opened so tongues might explore. He’d dreamed of this moment for months, years, and as fantasy collided with reality, his old embitterment kicked in. He broke contact and stepped back. “I’m amazed you’re so good at that.”

“I do have experience.” Spock’s hands went behind his back as he assumed his familiar on-duty persona and bearing.

“I don’t know why, but I assumed I’d be the one teaching you how, then I remember you’ve been with the same person for over twenty years and of course you’ve learned this already.”

“Your continued disappointment of my sexual history is one of the reasons that I am not ready to explore an intimate relationship with you. _I cannot be with someone who thinks me a whore_.” Spock sidestepped the captain and walked out of his own quarters.

  
  
  
Tralnor had a shit hand but was prepared to ride it for as long as he could. A pair of twos was about as bad as it got. “I’ll see your peanut clusters and raise you a packet of sour balls and a generous scoop of yogurt pretzels.”

The bags containing the sweets went into the pot. Chris was debating the merits of calling Tralnor’s hand right now so he might have a sweet treat or drawing out the wagers to get as much as he could. On the cusp of making his decision, the doorbell rang.

“Shit, I didn’t think we were being that loud.” Billy the Sixth said, opening the door. Surprised at the person darkening their door, Billy’s voice pitched up. “Commander Spock?”

The cabin fell into silence, then the first officer spoke. “Tralnor, if I may confer with you?”

Tralnor lay his cards face-up and O’Dell gave a victory hoot. Boots back on, he made to join the commander, warning, “Don’t get a tummy ache, Chris.”

“Yeah, yeah, Doc.” He stuffed a chunk of chocolate in his mouth and waved Tralnor off. That kid had a gut of titanium.

The door hadn’t completely closed behind them and the reason Spock needed him was blazing from his mind. James Kirk was sewing the seeds of discord, again.

To Spock, it felt like he spent more time in Sha’leyen’s office than his own. He took his usual place and contemplated what he and Tralnor just talked about. When Kirk kissed him, Spock did not follow down the pleasure his body fed back to him. Instead, he surface-read manic thoughts and desires, learning he’d have to stop his would-be lover, avoiding the possibility of intercourse because, in his excitement, Kirk would move too fast, setting off a refraction episode. Then there was the issue with how the human assessed Spock’s previous sexual partners, all two of them. . .

“Ein-waklar kupi-ak’shem-hutau na’duh’es t’komihnlar.” _Sometimes I shudder at the stupidity of humans_ , Sha’leyen facepalmed. “What the hell was he thinking? Starfleet Medical plus Advanced Aerospace? This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”

Spock couldn’t bring himself to comment, but he agreed with her.

She sighed and crossed her eyes. “He’s not going to come out of this in one piece and I don’t know as there’s one damned thing we can do to help. We needed him to stay here, safe, at Starbase 21, not trail behind us and get caught up in our mission.”

“Is there any way we can find out what Advanced Aerospace has planned? If they take Enterprise in the opposite direction—” Tralnor cut himself off. “James Kirk is wily and he’ll find a way to help us whether we want him to or not. Once Mollie arrives with T’Pau’s writ and President Cullen’s decree, there’s no more throwing him off the trail. The second this ship casts moorings, he’ll be on us.”

“We will have to convince him of the danger and to not get the crew involved. I believe that is the best we can do.” Spock pursed his lips, shoving away the taste and texture of the man at the center of this newest kink in the line.

“If that doesn’t work, there’s one other thing we might try, but it’s rather underhanded in my book.” Sha’leyen was hesitant to speak her mind but got the words out. “We have him declared mentally unfit for duty.”

  
  
  
She screamed, cried, pounded her fists on his desk, and McCoy could only sit there as she carried on. He’d thought Christine had taken this partial suspension rather well, not thinking she’d simmer about it and come roaring back later to try and have it out with him.

“ _What gives you the right_!” She ran her fingers up into the sides of her hair and scrunched. “The Nursing Board is reviewing my licensure. Do you know what that means?”

“I need to have complete and absolute trust in my staff, Chris. If this is what it takes to get you back to your best, so be it.”

“Did I do something to you? What is it? What?”

“It’s not me, Chris, it’s the rest of the crew. Playing favorites in medicine gets people killed and I will not stand for that.” He refused to engage in any advice or offer encouragement that the Nursing Board would do a cursory glance at her record, put a memo in her file, and send her back on the floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning where I’ll have you filling in for Crewman Ikeda.”

“ _I’m not a secretary_.” She snarled.

“Tomorrow.” The doctor reiterated, done with the subject.

  
  
  
Tralnor let himself into Spock’s quarters and asked, “You said you needed assistance with something?”

“Yes.” The first officer’s eyes hit on his. “Mollie has suggested that Jim and I should ‘fuck around a little’ to see if we are compatible in a sexual manner before allowing more of an emotional relationship to gel.”

“Spock, that’s—” _I don’t think this is a good idea_ , Tralnor thought, leaving his mental commentary open for Spock to listen. _If Kirk thinks you’re an easy lay, this is going to get even worse_.

“After what was said today, it is very unlikely that he and I will ever become lovers. But, the kiss we shared brought up another uncomfortable truth. Therefore, I am in the awkward position of needing to ask if you can share an example with me so I have an understanding of how to properly pace an encounter with him or any other man I may have in my bed.” Spock glanced down at his hands. “You do not have to say yes.”

“I can do that.” Tralnor didn’t want to see his friend’s heart stomped on again should he continue to seek his captain as a mate, but it was Spock’s choice to make these errors. There was nothing to do except watch it happen and be there for him when it unraveled. However, mixing physical intimacy into this sargasso, Tralnor could give Spock more of what he needed to keep from getting hurt on that level. “Let me run down to Rec Room 2 and grab something from Jock’s crate. I’ll be right back.”


	78. Chapter 78

Tralnor gave Spock the data chit Jock Balloch labeled Random Shit. “The file you’re looking for is called _Snarfle’s Birthday_.”

The first officer regarded the chit and deliberately set it on the desk rather than feeding it into the computer terminal. He had a feeling this was something he’d want to view when he was alone. “Is it—is it personal in nature?”

“Very personal. I’m going to give you the corresponding memories that go with it as well.” Tralnor glanced to the side, not in this realm for the moment because he’d gone somewhere bittersweet.

“Tralnor?” Spock had to say the younger man’s name twice to catch his attention. “Do not think that you have to revisit old wounds because I am a novice at this type of intercourse. I can find other references.”

“Your senior year, Jock and I asked Amelie Grace what she would like for her birthday. As a joke, she said she wanted a film of he and I making love since we’d rarely get the chance once he got assigned to a starship and she’d miss watching and joining in.”

The tips of Spock’s ears began to get green. “This is that film?”

“Yeah. One of two copies. I’ve got Amelie Grace’s hidden away. What you choose to do with it when you’re done is up to you. Save it for yourself or destroy it, if you watch it at all. Everything else on that chit has been copied over.”

“Are you certain this is something you want to share, especially with me?” Spock wondered if he could ever allow himself to be so open about sex? Even with someone he trusted, this was difficult.

Tralnor held out his hand. “The yemtra vokaya I’m ceding to you is the first-person perspective to go with the third-person viewing of the film. To access this memory, focus on the phrase: _Sometimes Saturdays seem sunnier than sound_.”

Spock accepted and clasped Tralnor’s hand with his own. A yemtra, or bolus transfer, was an ancient method of moving large amounts of information from person to person. It would lay dormant in Spock’s mind until he specifically wanted to consult it, wherein he’d need the key Tralnor gave to bring the wall around it down. This allowed Spock to handle the memory like the film, he could view it or not, but it was there if he needed it.

Mere seconds after they touched, the conveyance was over and they let go. Tralnor said, “Spock, you’re one of the few I’d share this with since you will both learn from it and see it as more than cheap amateur pornography. This was something he and I did because we loved her. . .”

“Was it the same love between you and him?”

Tralnor closed his eyes and allowed himself a soft smile. “Yes, it was.”

  
  
  
A heavy bombardment of Pezig’s Gate’s government computer network turned up one of the few useful items in their entire bureaucracy. The Back Country Exploratory Permit was a piece of red tape that said you can wander off into the planet’s expansive undeveloped areas and dig around but if you found anything of value (as determined by Pezig’s archaeological and geological appraisers, precious metals being the most notable) it automatically belonged to Pezig’s Gate. Anything else, like a hand-crafted Vulcan box, they were glad to be rid of, for a small fee, of course.

Laura brought up one of her many fabricated identities and fed that information into the form. Nyleen Connelly was an artifact hunter for the tourist trade. She bought trinkets by the gross and shifted them in places like Risa and Wrigley’s where gullible people thought they were taking home a bit of the exotic, not understanding they’d paid good money for a dead person’s garbage.

She liked this identity. When MV Sweetness’ business was slow, Laura liked to dust Nyleen off and make business. And the other captains in the fleet wondered how she always managed to turn a profit? Now, to create something new for Veddah.

Still in the process of breaking into the real Golic Archives, she’d come across some interesting profiles. She’d borrow attributes of those individuals and create a composite that Veddah could pull off. She’d have to come up with a name. At Vitell’s Star, she’d given the most generic Vulcan name she could think of, Selek, and no one cared. She wanted to be more thorough for Pezig’s. Government permits were more official than hotel registries. She played around in her head, running through common names, and decided to cross-check that list with actual Vulcan visitors to the ruins of their old empire.

Forty years of permit records didn’t turn up a single one. That’s when she decided to go a bit off the beaten path and started making the identity for Nyleen’s assistant, Batai. She’d never heard batai used as a name, but it was fitting for Veddah since one of the meanings of the word was _sturdy_.

She set out from her garden shed, needing to get a good photo of Veddah to put on his new documents. A dozen or so steps toward the lift, she heard men yelling and the signature sound of fists connecting with warm flesh. She ran toward the noise, to find Silvio and Liam taking shots at one another.

“ _Say it to my face you pussy_!” Silvio bellowed and swung.

Liam took a dive into Silvio’s midsection, plowing him into the opposite wall. “Fuck you, Mazzi.”

Silvio wheezed and shoved against the crewman. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Heh-heh, she replaced your cowardly ass with a _slave_.” Liam smirked and popped Silvio in the jaw.

_Are you just about done_? Laura’s thought must have connected. She’d stood unnoticed until she threw it out there. The physical argument stopped cold, both men stared at her.

“You weren’t meant to see that.” Silvio picked himself up.

“We’re sorry, Captain.” Liam followed.

“I don’t want to see or hear any of this shit in the open. If you two want to kill one another, do it where I’m not being blocked from the lift.” She wanted to knock their heads together. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain.” Liam desperately wanted to stay on her good side.

Silvio gave an unconvincing nod. “Yeah.”

“Good, now get the fuck out of my way or I’ll lock you both in the same cage in the brig for the next week.” They scrambled and she once again made for Veddah’s cell.

  
  
  
_Sometimes_. . .

He could not take his mind off the memory Tralnor had given him. Was he ready to view this file? Thinking about it left his face afire, embarrassment mixing with hormones for a strange effect.

_Saturdays_. . .

A learning experience, that’s what Spock asked for. Like the CABBAGE SOUP MIX box on the floor of his closet, this was another interlocking part in the puzzle of figuring out his sexuality.

_Seem_. . .

He was alone, door locked, all comms suspended unless it was a genuine emergency. He had to eventually be able to do this correctly or face the painful consequences. The chit slotted into the reader and a directory came up on the screen.

_Sunnier_. . .

It was a bright afternoon, natural light pouring in through the window of Tralnor’s room. Two young men waved at the camera and the operator says something to them, in Vulcan. Sohja filmed this encounter.

_Than_. . .

They already have their shirts off. The Vulcan’s hair, untied, fell to the small of his back. Smiles only faded so they could focus on their kiss and the way fingers traced trails of anticipation up necks and down torsos.

Tralnor liked it when Jock cradled the back of his head, tilting his chin up, where he placed a line of perfect little nibbles from the base of his neck to the elegant tip of his pointed ear.

_Sound_.

Viewing was nothing on feeling the happenings on the screen. Experiencing the reactions of a body as close as he could get to his own, Spock gave himself over to Tralnor’s memory.

Tralnor’s love for the man he was with and the woman they were doing this for was strong, but it wasn’t the nameless, faceless, force of destruction as visited upon so many humans. This emotion was based on a triangle of mutual respect amongst the three of them. While they weren’t sexually exclusive with one another during this time, they were pillars in each other’s lives.

After much experience, Tralnor had Jock trained to go slow, incrementally building up the intensity. Facing one another on the bed, they kissed and touched, just letting flesh brush against flesh, nothing yet below the belt. They knew exactly what to do to one another to draw a light sigh or moan of approval.

Cocks twitched, colliding into the other due to their proximity, a hand reached down giving them a generous stroke, pressing the shafts together and sending stars of pleasure to the brains above. There is no worry about whether this coupling would work. Falling to the sensation, the two young men gasped, at the edge of orgasm as the stroking offered more friction, more heat. Then, Tralnor rolled away.

On his stomach, legs slightly spread, Tralnor snuggled into a pillow as Jock cupped his cheeks and massaged. Spock thought they'd immediately begin penetration and was proven wrong as the massage went on. Back, thighs, scalp, relaxation was the midpoint goal. Kisses across broad shoulders.

“Only if you’re ready.” Jock whispered into Tralnor’s ear.

“I’m ready.”

The nightstand held a bottle of lubricant. Jock dressed Tralnor’s orifice with the thick liquid, nesting the tip of his finger on the depression created by the pucker. He held the position, waiting on Tralnor’s affirmation to gently begin the process of inserting that digit. They gave eye-contact and kisses and offered little declarations of affection. There was absolutely no hesitation on Tralnor’s behalf when he told his partner to begin.

Completely aware of their actions, their leisurely pace was a boundary set to keep Tralnor from a refraction. This was not painful, but pleasant, a gradual opening of internal and external sphincters, more lubrication added before it might be needed. Two fingers, then three, and hints of the feeling of fullness that lay ahead.

Moved to his left side, Jock spooned Tralnor where he could set the head of his penis into the vacancy left by his fingers. Slower yet, Jock eased in a millimeter at a time, waiting for Tralnor’s body to fully accommodate him before pulling back slightly and moving forward again.

“You’re fine?” Jock asked. “I’m not hurting you?”

Tralnor got his neck turned, where he could sort-of see his lover’s face, and let him have a grin. “I’m fine.”

“You’re—”

Tralnor reached back, holding Jock still, and turned his head away. “Bad adjustment. Good now.”

In-tune enough with his body to anticipate what would happen if he’d stayed in that more-intimate placement, Tralnor curtailed a possible refraction. Deep breath in and out. “Keep going.”

“We can stop.” Jock tucked a stray chunk of hair behind Tralnor’s ear and kissed his neck.

“ _Keep going_.” Tralnor insisted.

The discipline demonstrated by these horny young guys was beyond Spock’s knowing. Timing and restraint played into this more than he’d thought possible. Did he still want this?

Totally inside his lover, Jock stilled again, letting Tralnor get used to his entire length. “Every time we do this, it’s a special kind of amazing.”

Tralnor said yes to tiny grinding thrusts that morphed into the movements of what might be considered standard intercourse. The visuals combined with the ghosting sensations of the memory let Spock feel/understand/know/hope for what it might be like. Something center mass started to glow, throbbing like it might explode, high-octane pleasure coursing through his nerves. Spock wanted the love, the physical connection, the all of it.

A gasp containing nothing but the most exquisite bliss escaped Spock’s mouth as the pictures on the screen and in his head blanked out. His next conscious recollection was of sitting at his desk, deflating penis in his hand, cooling semen on his skin and clothes.

  
  
  
He decided he’d miss Kuznetsov when she was gone. Kirk liked her company and the outsider’s perspective she offered on the goings-on of his ship. She told him he was lucky she wasn’t his first officer, or she’d have back-handed him into the Beta Quadrant for sneaking around.

“I know that Captain Cody can’t give you the details of why her ship is on the verge of being mothballed—”

“ _Wait, what do you mean mothballed_?” Kirk shoveled another bite of chicken breast and steamed broccoli into his mouth. The longer Bones kept him on this damned health food kick, the more he felt like he spent all of his time eating or thinking about eating.

“Us lady captains have got to stick together." Kuznetsov stated. "We talk shop whenever we can. Now, Jimmy, I preface this with a disclaimer. What happened was not Captain Cody’s fault.”

“What? Is everyone okay?” This was the first he’d heard about the depth of Billie’s recent problems.

“If she’d listened to the Advanced Aerospace overlords, everyone on the Wild West Show would all be dead. She dropped them out of warp before the experiment blew up the nacelles and took the rest of the ship with them. She jettisoned the core, sealed off that part of engineering, and limped them to the nearest starbase." Kuznetsov's Russian demeanor pounded home just how serious USS Calisto's near-miss was. "Cody said that particular test felt different, like when a cough dislodges a rib.”

Kirk left his fork in the middle of his dinner. “Do you know the experiment Wild West Show was running?”

“Not a clue. She can’t talk about that part. Official Secrets Act.” She stole a bite of chicken off his plate. “You’d have done best to talk to Spock and have him shoot your idea down. Enterprise might not make it to her refit.”

“Don’t say that, Captain.”

“I’m only speaking the truth, Captain.”


	79. Chapter 79

Waiting for the guillotine to fall, Jim Kirk made any and all inquiries in trying to figure out what the fuck was heading his way. Billie refused to speak a word on the topic, including any elaboration on the damage done to her ship. Outside of a trial, he’d never heard the Official Secrets Act invoked so many times. Slathering on the charm didn’t work. Billie wasn’t going to put her ass on the line, even for her very favorite space cowboy.

Spock was right when he called Advanced Aerospace Research and Design a Skunk Works. There was some wild shit that came out of that division, not unlike the fabled Los Alamos laboratory during the mid-Twentieth Century. He was thinking about Advanced Aerospace’s early, deadly failures with solar fuel cell technology for atmospheric drones that could fly for years.

Kirk let his mind drift from exploding drones setting houses on fire and crushing people to death to exploding personal relationships. He recalled the sharp betrayal he’d felt when learning Spock had spent most of his life engaged to a woman who loathed him. The captain wanted to take T’Pring’s head off for what she did to the man he loved. That anger, that sting that she would potentially be Spock’s first for everything, Kirk considered that a righteous emotional reaction. He’d never thought to ask if there’d been anyone else.

Getting the Vulcan to talk about sex was next to impossible. Kirk was self-assured that if he’d confronted Spock about his sex life two years ago, he wouldn’t have gotten an answer. The first officer’s reticence to partake in shore leaves or reference his personal life left the captain filling in the blanks, weaving a story that made sense to his human mind. To that end, Kirk was certain Spock was a virgin, and he’d created a script in his head where he’d lovingly guide this untouched person in becoming a fully-realized sexual being.

Like jealousy, fantasy infected the captain’s perception of his friend. . .

  
  
  
Spock didn’t replay the video the third time he got into Tralnor’s memory. He wasn’t interested in visuals at all, not from the camera’s angle or the participant’s perception. He focused on the mental energy exchanging between the two men.

He’d known it was there when he’d gone through the first viewing but was so caught up in the corporeal he couldn’t put any filters in place. Tralnor and Jock’s minds met, as was standard in sex where one or both of the parties was a touch telepath. Tralnor’s brain did what it was instinctually programmed to do. Jock welcomed that presence as their continued physical contact anchored the temporary psionic enmeshment.

The pleasurable feedback they sent to one another as their bodies alighted to the excitement, Spock knew and understood, having personally experienced that. Tralnor’s complete awareness of his own body and Balloch’s responses to his partner’s guidance was built on the trial and error of setting off refraction episodes when they’d first become intimate. Thus, they’d learned to pace Tralnor’s penetration at a languid rate.

They thought about one another as their love-making played out. Spock identified with their shared joy and the friendship aspect. That’s what he and Mollie had. However, the amour was an element he’d never felt with her. Adoration superseded lust, the sanctity of their devotion echoed in every glancing touch and thrust. Emotion heightened the longer this contact went on, the abject need for this other person nearly overtaking all rational thinking. Still, a spike of Tralnor’s consciousness stayed in reality, monitoring the responses in the lowest sectors of his spinal cord.

There was no sound, not even the snicking of Jock’s belly colliding against Tralnor’s ass as he increased the speed at which he moved in and out. Tralnor reached back again, not to stop, but seeking Jock’s hand. Fingers entwined and squeezed. _Need you, want you, keep you, love you_. . . Partially formed thoughts they flung against one another.

Tralnor’s knuckles pressed against Jock’s lips. Tremors became quakes became psionic screams of delight and allegiance as the rapture of climax held them suspended from ordinary existence, divine moments passing until the flesh and telepathic filaments disengaged on their own accord.

 _Yes_ , Spock thought, _I do want this_.

  
  
  
Just for shits and giggles, Laura took a deep dive into some LAPD files, like the ones containing every citation Zadie Pambakian issued as a uniformed street cop. After learning the good detective had extorted an ex-fiancee to sign over her house and said ex made some online comments about how the cop she’d dated was purposely racist on the beat, Laura went for that cheese.

In the span of a year, Pambakian had issued about two-thousand tickets. Sixteen-hundred of those were to off-worlders or people of non-human descent. Her cop buddies called her an OWL wrangler, the acronym standing for Off-World-Loser.

Where things got more interesting was following the trail of social hubs and messageboards, Laura found an old journal Pambakian had kept on a now-defunct board that no one could post to anymore. The _Los Angeles Times_ would love this. Hundreds of pages of paranoia, descriptions of sexual assaults she’d perpetrated, her thoughts on Mollie, the MacCormack/Ah’delvna family, and aliens.

Laura read until her eyes hurt, concluding that this was a manifesto, and it outlined everything she wanted to do to Mollie to get back at her. The attempted murder and kidnapping was the beginning of a detailed and disgusting plan should the shock of the murder/kidnap plot not send Mollie straight into Zadie’s arms.

A second batch of incriminating paperwork sent off to the press, it was time to study some maps and satellite images of Pezig’s Gate. She tucked her data padd in her waistband and moseyed off to her office.

  
  
  
Tralnor and Sha’leyen held hands once wedged into the lumpy purple loveseat. They’d spent part of the afternoon working out Pezig’s Gate’s rules and regulations on relic hunting. Not knowing the exact wording on Mollie’s paperwork, it was hard to tell at this point if the Kennuk needed to file for permits or not.

“Are you worried about what’s coming?” Sha’leyen clasped her free hand around their braided fingers.

“Absolutely terrified.” He said.

In a near whisper, her words, “Me too.”

  
  
  
Uhura’s voice had a confused quality to it like she didn’t believe what she was hearing. “Captain, that was Starbase 21’s Command and Control telling us they have an incoming civilian shuttle that will be putting down in our shuttle bay. No information available on the pilot or payload.”

“Hold on.” Kirk’s head popped up so fast from his studying on Advanced Aerospace he gave himself a mild case of whiplash. “Get me in touch with Lt. Commander Brompton.”

“Yes, Sir.” The call was waiting to go out, all she’d needed was the order.

“You’re not going to like this, Captain.” Brompton had that pre-wince face that told of many ass-chewings for shit beyond his control.

“You can’t just tell me someone or something is going to land aboard the Enterprise. I refuse permission for this craft. You have to take it. We’ll figure out the nuts and bolts in one of your cushy conference rooms.” _What the fuck_? Kirk looked to his mystified communications officer and back to the viewscreen.

“I’m sorry Captain Kirk. This is rubber-stamped by people way, way above my pay grade, yours too. The pilot’s got a Presidential Decree. They’re coming aboard.”

  
  
  


Kirk hurled himself through the entryway to the shuttle bay just as a stitch started in his side. Bewilderment gobbled up the effects of the hard run from the bridge. The last person he thought he’d see waiting for this stranger to arrive stood at the control board for the bay doors. “Spock?”

The Vulcan continued on his task like the captain wasn’t in the same sector let alone on the same ship.

“Spock? What’s going on?” This was like grasping at cobwebs, attempting to keep himself from falling into a chasm.

“Shuttle Direct No.742, you are cleared for landing.” Spock waited for the craft’s acknowledgment and started rolling the doors when he received the pilot’s ping-back.

“Listen here, Mister. This is my ship. When I ask you a question, you answer. Is that understood?” At least that earned him a side-glance.

“I cannot comply with that request, Captain.”

“Jesus H. Christ. Is this your way of retaliating for this Advanced Aerospace thing? I knew you were a lot of things, but—” The noise off the incoming vehicle saved Kirk from saying more he’d dearly regret later. Once it set down and started the power-off and decompression cycles, he looked at the outer details on the little bird. It was easily recognizable as one of Gulfstream’s lavish offerings.“I thought ShuttleDirect was like a car rental company. Why does this one have guns and a reinforced hull?”

“In case they are needed.” Spock said, walking a few steps closer to No.742’s hatch.

“That’s bullsh—” His words crumbled and his heart imploded at the sight of the pilot. “Spock, _how could you_?”

Mollie’s boots touched down on the deck plates. She and Spock exchanged the ta’al, neither showing any emotions tied to a reunion with a beloved friend. He might wish that this was a social call instead of grim reality smashing him across the jaw, but wishes didn’t have much traction as of late.

Kirk, on the precipice of a nuclear meltdown, managed to hold steady. Spock mentally recoiled from the potent anger/hatred/odium Mollie’s arrival unhitched.

“Captain Kirk, Diplomatic Envoy Mallia Ah’delevna of Vulcan needs to share some documents with you.” Spock blinked hard, shoving down the burning bile stinging up his esophagus and tried to block the captain’s writhing contempt.

Mollie dared not offer her hand as a gesture of goodwill. A touch from this pyre of incandescent enmity could put her on her ass. “I didn’t want our first in-person meeting to be like this, Captain. We, Spock and I, had hoped—”

 _I don’t need your fucking apology_! His thoughts tore through Spock and Mollie, bullets through paper targets, and he waited for the paperwork that installed her on his ship. _Just give me the goddamned orders so I don’t have to look at your contemptible bitch face_.

She had a stack of three identical padded folios. Inside, the right pocket displayed T’Pau’s writ and the left, President Cullen’s decree. “One copy is yours, Captain. The second goes on file at Starbase 21. The third stays with me.”

Kirk read as much as his brain could process under this prodigious stress. His skin became an ashen grey. “If you’ll pardon me. . .”

  
  
  
Road-weary and woozy from Kirk’s emotional onslaught, Mollie could only watch as the captain stalked off for parts unknown. “I was afraid something like this was going to happen. I’m sorry, Spock. I’m only here because I have to be.”

“You are not the one who is out-of-sorts, Mollie.”

Unconscious of their minor movements while Kirk’s sinter fell out of suspension and began to settle, the two old friends found themselves holding hands. Spock’s pain went deeper than he was capable of admitting.

(None of this is your fault, Spock.)

(To quote Joe Bergman, my rational mind knows that, but I cannot drown out the misleading feelings that tell me otherwise.) He held tight, tangling his fingers with hers. (It is like I am being torn in half and it is all the more difficult as biologically, I need a partner, emotionally, I want a partner, psionically, I subconsciously seek a partner, and all three paths lead me to the same person. You must be disappointed in me.)

(Spock, the only one I’m disappointed in right now is Jim Kirk.)

  
  
  
“Legally, we are allowed to show up at Pezig’s Gate and do what we need to do regardless of what their government dictates.” Mollie said, setting her open folio on Sha’leyen’s desk. “The only way they could refuse is if they weren’t signatories of the Federation Security Collective. The planet may be privately held, but they use the feds for security, disaster relief, medical care, and they pay into the Collective Health Fund.”

Sha’leyen touched one of the documents. “I only worry about them trying to shoot us down or detain us because we can’t disclose why we’re there. They might not like that.”

“As of now, Mollie has diplomatic immunity. She can take the fall for anything we do.” Tralnor raised a corner of his mouth in a teasing manner.

“I don’t know if you three, as my appointed aides, are covered by the same rules. All evidence suggests that no one will care what we’re up to in the back of beyond, especially if we spend a good chunk of money in Sandia. I'm also scheming a way to get the right officials to look the other way.” From one of the cases she’d brought on her shuttle, she removed a paper map and opened it over the folio. “T’Lal and Sarek think we need to start looking somewhere around in here.”

The remote area she indicated was about nine-hundred kilometers from the nearest contemporary road. A purple dash-and-dot line showed the path of the obscured remains of the old Vulcan road. “This leads out to an impressive geothermal area. Aerial imagery gives a decent idea of how big a town this once was.”

On top of the map, she laid out an oversized print of the long-dead little city. Based on the size and modern population densities, it was likely home to around twelve thousand individuals and was powered by the local hot springs.

“What makes this our parents’ choice?” Spock posed.

“The other built-up areas were adjacent to the large prison complex. It stands to say that you’d want to keep something like a tavalik duv-tor away from the inhabitants of a massive gulag.” Mollie removed the photo, refocusing on the map. “What I have to say next is extremely sensitive and should never be mentioned outside of very specific circumstances and states of duress.”

The three others nodded in agreement. “T’Lal and Sarek have been to old detention colonies like this on their various hunts for artifacts of malice. Apparently, they’re all set up in practically the same manner. There are the prison and the support communities. Then, there is the administrative center, set off just far enough away that the bureaucrats aren’t forced to experience constant reminders of just what they’re overseeing.”

“That kind of detachment from dirty work is still how many of Belon’s little fiefdoms are laid out.” Sha’leyen started tracing a route as the crow flies, linking the points of civilization like a dot-to-dot puzzle.

“And for future reference, should you need to find someone who’s been incarcerated.” Mollie looked directly at Spock. “It’s how the Romulans still do things to this day. That is a first-hand account from our parents.”

“Remarkable.” Spock, who’d long thought of his father as too proper to do anything outrageous, spent a lot of time reconciling Sarek’s artifact hunting when he’d learned the truth seven years ago. This put the ambassador at an entirely different level.

“Sarek and T'Lal say these administrative centers are built in quadrants, with the northwest section being home to the big temples. This is where the houses of the kinds of higher-ranking people who’d want or use something like a tavalik duv-tor were.”

Solemnly, Tralnor said, “Looks like we’ve found our jumping-off point.”


	80. Chapter 80

Admiral Holt read the scanned documents as delivered by Diplomatic Envoy Mallia Ah’delevna of Vulcan. Just thinking her name made Kirk’s mind quake with rage. _Who the fuck did this pretty little wannabe Vulcan she think she was_?

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Kirk. These are legit. I’ve got this envoy pulled up on my other screen and she’s on Ambassador Sarek’s staff. It’s all completely above board.”

“And there’s nothing I can do to stop her?”

Holt must have caught the crazy gleam in his eye. “You get in the way of Ah’delevna’s mission, that’s prison time. This decree is binding. She has to do the job she’s been assigned along with the other three people listed. I can’t help that it’s three members of your crew.”

“I _need_ Spock. He’s my first officer and my science officer. This ship does not function well without him.” If he could just get Spock wrested away from this group and out of the clutches of a specific. . .

“Commander Spock couldn’t have picked a better time for fate to take him off on an adventure without you, Captain Kirk. Advanced Aerospace is going to infect your ship like the plague and he’d find himself redundant for the entirety of the experiment, however long that happens to last.” Holt wasn’t understanding how profound a loss this was for Kirk.

That woman was on the Enterprise so she could take Spock away from him, full stop. “This is bad, Admiral Holt.”

“ _Do. Not. Interfere_.” She lifted her brow and let her head cant slightly to the right. “If the rumors are true and you are knocking boots with Commander Spock, then you just have to deal with this like all the rest of the significant others who stay behind. I know its nerve-wracking. I live it every day. My husband is the captain of the USS Kalispell and the Klingons spend all their free time taking potshots at him. You’re just going to have to suck it up.”

“Rumors?” That gave Kirk pause and left him with a ray of sunshine. If other people thought he and Spock were a couple. . .

“Things happen out in deep space regardless of the strictest no fraternization policies. I’ve always taken the stance of I don’t give a shit what or who you’re doing after hours so long as it’s legal and doesn’t hinder your ability to get your job done. At the speed you’re at right now, you’re going to wind up as one of Starfleet Academy’s training modules on why you don’t schtup your crewmates.”

Kirk sighed. “That’s not what’s—This Ah’delevna character is, according to these bits of parchment and paper, granted free range of my ship. She can go anywhere and basically do anything. How is that even possible?”

“This has come down from the very top, Captain Kirk. For all intents, it’s the word of God. Leave it be and focus on Advanced Aerospace. I’ve sniffed around a little, and according to my former helmsman on the Meritorious, depending on the team you’ve been assigned, the captain is either heavily involved in the execution of their tests, or he’s not. For your sake, I hope it’s not the later.” Holt crossed her arms over her perfectly pert bust.

“Me too, Admiral.”

“Keep your feet out of the fire, Jim.”

He tried to nod but his neck refused to move. “I’ll try, Miranda.”

“Good. Admiral Holt, out.”

  
  
  
Tralnor had offered to join Mollie on her meeting with Captain Kirk, but she needed to handle this alone. As she walked the corridors, heads turned and whispers filled the air. The crew knew exactly who she was, but couldn’t untangle the reason why she was there.

Still in the clothes she’d worn when she stepped off the shuttle that morning, she smoothed out the worst of the wrinkles and picked any lint off the mostly black attire as clad the backs of the Ambassador’s staff. The script embellishments on this outfit only gave her position and who she worked for, not that she expected anyone to take notice and why would they?

Believing herself presentable, she rang at Kirk’s office. She knew he was in there, it was impossible not to feel the smothering anger on the other side of the door. It took a third ring to get any reaction.

“Come in.” He struggled to keep his tone level. “I’d really appreciate it if you sat down and didn’t do that annoying Vulcan thing where you stand around with your hands behind your back. I don’t need that right now.”

She took a chair and set her folio on her lap. “I need to explain to you what I can about this while not revealing any classified details.”

 _Details_? _Like the one where you’re only here to steal the man I love_? “Explain away, Diplomatic Envoy Ah’delevna.”

To think the person across from her wasn’t a psion. He’d focused all of his emotion into a spear he wanted to ram through her head. She put up her shields, holding him off for the moment. “The mission was planned this way to negate you and your crew from becoming collateral damage.”

“A few torpedoes and some phaser fire, sure it’ll scorch the hull, but that’s hardly—”

“Four-hundred-plus Starfleet personnel dead on your order to follow us down this rabbit hole is significant collateral damage.” She sensed the cyclone of thoughts and feelings behind his eyes. “That’s not acceptable, Captain. The lives of everyone on this ship are worth more than that.”

“What are you up against? I bet that whatever it is, you’ll have a better chance of success with a Constitution Class starship in your corner. Don’t cut me out of this. I can help you.” This was the first thing he’d said that didn’t come off as a challenge. He thought he was in a place where he could offer assistance.

“It’s not possible.” She couldn’t elaborate.

All the anger surging through him flipped his outward demeanor like an old fashioned light switch, swapping over into rage from a muddled cloud of love and loyalty for Spock and his fear that Mollie’s real mission was to remove Spock from his life.

“Captain Kirk.” Mollie felt she could relay this much. “Spock has told me that he doesn’t want to see you injured or killed by getting caught up in this.”

Kirk looked around, almost unsure Spock would say something like that about him. “What about you? How come you’re not championing my coming along so I wind up dead and out of your road to my—It’s an easy way to get rid of the competition beneath a cloak of plausible deniability.”

“I’m not here to comment on your speculation about interpersonal relationships, Captain.” She braced for what promised to be an overwhelming onslaught.

“Whatever it is that you four are up to, you can’t give me jack shit on what’s actually taking place. I can appreciate that. I know very well how classified missions operate. That leaves us with the real reason you’re here, Mallia Ah’delevna, something that we can get into the nitty-gritty about.” He kept his hands flat on his desk and stared at her.

She would be the bigger person in this confrontation. “At this time, I can’t—”

“ _Won’t_. You _won’t_ admit that bonding with Spock is your main objective. I’d respect you more if you just came out and said it. You don’t want him to be with me.”

“We will take today and tomorrow to finalize our preparations and depart in my shuttle so none of your ship’s heavy equipment is tied up in our mission.” _Keep going, tell him what you’re supposed to, and escape_.

“You can’t love him, not like I do.”

“It’s uncertain how long we’ll be gone. Should the Enterprise clear Starbase 21 and resume her regular mission, your crew members will return in as expedient a manner as possible.”

“I would do anything for him.”

She continued, completely dismissing his choleric declarations, “Once we’ve disembarked from the Enterprise, we will not answer any communications from this ship or her crew so we don’t disclose our location.”

“ _Anything_.” He emphasized.

“And we will do our best to stay out of your crew’s way as we finish getting ready.” All said, she stood.

“Has anyone ever told you that you do a pretty good imitation of a Vulcan?” He sounded like he was joking around, but the emotion he sent out said he was trying to be mean and not get caught out.

“Captain Kirk, I’ve been told by certain individuals and I’ve heard from the media that you are a generous, selfless, noble person. One day I would like to meet the man my best friend describes being as magnanimous as he is incorruptible.” Mollie felt no compunction at walking out on the Enterprise’s head-of-state.

  
  
  
The officers’ mess went quiet when the Kennuk entered and joined the lunch line. Spock hadn’t felt this conspicuous aboard his own ship in years. He’d wanted to stay tucked away in the back of bioarchaeology and have a meal delivered to them, but Tralnor and Sha’leyen insisted that being seen was better than pockets of gossip and speculation left to fester.

“Don’t touch the croutons.” Sha’leyen warned. “The kitchen staff likes to toss them in seasonings made with meat-based bullion.”

Mollie set the tongs down. “That’s good to know.”

“Unlike the other times you’ve been aboard, the food is barely passable right now.” Spock’s plate was still empty. If the kitchens and synthesizers produced consistently edible fare, Dr. McCoy wouldn’t have to ride him so hard about not eating.

“Right.” Mollie had some limp greens, cottage cheese, and a piece of fruit. “Too bad we all can’t live on peanut butter and jam on toast like some people.”

“I heard that.” Tralnor said. “It’s about self-preservation. Unless someone infuses the peanut butter and jam with red-eye gravy and prime rib trimmings, I shouldn’t have to worry about any pesky cross-contamination followed by three days of projectile vomiting.”

Spock kept a wary eye out for Captain Kirk. Where Sha’leyen saw taking Kirk out of the game on a psychological claim as playing dirty, any semi-competent evaluator could see the captain was struggling with his mental health.

“Crap, Leonard McCoy is zooming in for the kill. You better put something on your plate, Commander.” Sha’leyen pointed in the direction the doctor approached from.

Spock chose a cucumber sandwich and an over-ripened pear. McCoy butted into the line just so he could evaluate that his people were properly refueling.

“Good. Unlike the rest of this bunch trying to figure out what in Dixie you’re up to, my job is to make sure you’re healthy enough to go, and that includes a reasonable caloric intake.” The doctor backed off for a moment until he snagged a sandwich and followed them to their table.

“I’ve eaten better things out of a compost heap.” Sha’leyen picked up a droopy leaf and flicked it on her plate. Today, there were crackers, but no soup or cheese to go with them. She crushed some garbanzo beans with a fork and scraped them on the saltines.

“Miss MacCormack, I’m ship’s surgeon, Leonard McCoy. It’s a pleasure to have you here in the flesh.” A welcoming smile and an extended hand—

“It’s nice to meet you. Please, call me Mollie.” She didn’t ignore the physical part of his greeting. “I’m sorry, Dr. McCoy. I don’t know you yet and as such will avoid touching you.”

He retracted his hand, not disappointed or ready to make a comment about pointy-eared hobgoblins. “Don’t mind me. I know better, Vulcan etiquette being what it is.”

Tralnor set down his toast. “If she decides she likes you, you’ll get a smile out of her every once in a while, but probably nothing like you’ve seen during our commentary tapings. That’s the result of all of us spending years together.”

“You’re like them, aren’t you?” McCoy pointed to the rest of the Kennuk. “A touch telepath?”

“I am.” Mollie said.

McCoy’s eyes twinkled at her. “I don’t know how you can stand it, how any of you can stand it. I think I’d feel awfully lonely having to keep myself closed off like that.”

Spock bit into his pear and decided he’d rather eat a mouthful of sand because sand would taste better. “There are some disadvantages to touch telepathy.”

 _If I had more traditionally human telepathic abilities, I might have made sense of Jim Kirk before things got this bad_. Spock mentally built himself up, knowing after this meal was over, he and Tralnor were talking to the captain and laying down the law where Mollie was concerned. _Would I be drawn to him at all if I’d been granted such insight_?

  
  
  
This was one of those afternoons where Laura wanted to tell everyone who thought being a starship captain was a glamorous, never-ending adventure to shut their face-holes. She’d love for them to let her know how they felt when they had to take on payroll duties in addition to the other reams of office work because she had to fire her paymaster for trying to skim money and cargo. She left that thieving scumbag back on Spring Valley and put the word out that he’d tried to screw over brother and sister AVDL members. His greed would catch up to him soon enough. If he lived, he wouldn’t have any fingers to show for it.

“Captain, subspace distortion ahead. Permission to recalculate course to avoid?” Morgana drew Laura out of her numbers.

“Granted.” Laura let herself have a stretch and a quick walk around the bridge.

“ _Captain Hillyard_!” A man’s voice shrieked over the comm. “ _Cargo bay. . . Des Farmer_.”

“What do you know, boss? That idiot didn’t get the memo to get the fuck out of the band.” Silvio started for the lifts, ready to bust some teeth and kick in the head of an asshole who’d tried to cheat him.

She pulled open the smallest drawer on her chair, scooped the contents, and tore off after her first officer.


	81. Chapter 81

“You thought you could dump me at that backwater station with all those potatoes? Not in this lifetime, Hillyard.” Des Farmer had an old model disrupter, that from the sound it was making, Laura knew was incapable of firing again. “I was serving on board Sweetness before you and will be after you’re carted off by Dan Shelley and installed as AVDL’s First Lady.”

The Starfleet prisoners, all but the remaining woman, were stun-shot, sprawled on the deck. She was backed against a wall, wild-eyed and still kicking at her attacker. Liam lay on the verge of death, having fallen to the floor beneath the bay’s comm panel. Des had gotten the jump on Liam, beating him until the orbit of his left eye was crushed.

“Silvio, get Doc Hoskins.” Laura didn’t feel safe getting any closer to Farmer but inched up on him nonetheless. “Des, give me that Klingon pea-shooter, you spend the rest of this leg in the brig, and we set you down at Pezig’s Gate where we mutually agree to never cross paths again.”

“Like I’m going to believe someone who gets her kicks taking Vulcan cock.” He aimed his weapon at her.

She reached for the small of her back. “I was going to give you the easy way out, but no, you’ve got to make it messy.”

“Fuck you, Hillyard.” Des laughed to himself. He twirled the disrupter by its trigger guard, intent on pistol-whipping her.

A quick flick of her eyes revealed Silvio was busy trying to keep Liam alive. The Starfleet engineer was too traumatized to get herself up and cower somewhere else. Captain Franklin, coming back into consciousness, lifted his head, torn between rooting for Des or Laura.

“My boat, my rules. I’ll get you out of here one way or another.”

“I only listen to captains I respect.” He rushed her, swinging the butt of his gun.

The pow of her 9mm going off in the confined space almost deafened those who were aware of the waking world. Des, bleeding and screaming, grabbed at the place where half his hand and the disrupter used to be. She stood over him.

“I’ll leave.” He ground his teeth, moaning and grunting about the pain. “Next stop, I’m gone, and you’ll never see me again.”

“You’ve stolen from us, tried to rape one of my prisoners, nearly killed your former crewmate, and attempted to assault the captain. You’re right, I’ll never see you again.” She fired.

Franklin went off on a holler about explosive decompression until Laura went over and gave him a hard slap across the face. “Mr. Mighty Starfleet doesn’t know dick about cargo ships, because it's beneath him. This is one of Sweetness’ two Fragile Goods bays, the only place where projectile weapons can be used. The floor has a thin metal surface layer and beneath that is forty centimeters of natural cork over fifteen centimeters of Grade B dampening steel. The only thing about to explosively decompress is me if you don’t stop your fucking screeching.”

Laura looked back toward the bay door leading into the ship proper. Hoskins was tending to Liam, who was now awake and thinking at a level where she could hear it. . . . _space us all after raping. . . going to kill captain Hillyard. . . kill me_. . .

“ _Why_? Why do it like—Why?” Franklin stuttered.

“Would you rather be dead at the hands of Des Farmer, Franklin? I didn’t think so.” She stepped off toward the doctor, wanting to know more about Liam’s condition.

  
  
  
Synthesized, presented in various forms with assorted methods of delivery, the ancient drugs looked innocuous. Mollie didn’t want to get too close even though they were safely packaged and stored. Collective memories of what those chemicals represented burst to the forefront of her mind. “That’s, I don’t want to have to use these.”

“Neither do I.” Sha’leyen closed the lid on the medical case her recreated compounds of terror would ride in.

“I didn't think ketro’nitsin still existed in any form. Vulcan has rightly banned its manufacture and use.” Mollie stayed away from the Lt. Commander and her drugs.

Uncomfortable, Sha’leyen said, “Belon has not. My T’Kehr found the original samples I recreated these from at the Vulcanis Regnar Spring Festival nearly a decade ago. A Belonite street vendor had them out on his table. When Zakhira asked about them, he didn’t know what he was selling, just that certain Vulcans who knew what they were would lay out a handsome sum of money to get them. Authorities are still hunting for the Belonite chemists responsible.”

“So, there’s more of this stuff out there?”

“Unfortunately.” Sha’leyen shook her head in disgust. “What is good though is it’s not plentiful and not particularly easy to get your hands on the active ingredients. The festival vendor was a fluke. Right now, I consider these compounds a secret weapon that gives us more of a fighting chance.”

Mollie saw her point, an advantage was an advantage. “What happens if I’m exposed to these drugs?”

“I’m not certain, Mollie. We don’t have any records of what happened to the pre-Reform humans. I don’t know if its because those records were destroyed or these drugs didn’t affect them. Zakhira scoured the Great Library of Lyr Saan and there was nothing.” Sha’leyen wore gloves to handle the medical case, not taking any chances. “Let’s not find out through experience.”

“I second that.” Mollie took charge of the flat-bed trolly that held the checked over outdoors equipment for their trip. “To the shuttle bay.”

  
  
  
Spock, Tralnor, and Bones, of all people, cornered Jim in his office. There he was, just trying to get his work done, and kaboom, his friends were on him like he’d screwed one of their wives or girlfriends. “Bones, you can’t be siding with them on this. _Come on_.”

“Jim, your obsession with Mollie is ruining your personal life and your career. She’s not done one damned thing to you.” McCoy worked his jaw.

“How do you not see it?” Kirk pleaded at the doctor. “She’s taking another run at Spock, like she’s done before, and got upset when I called her on it. I’m not the one moving in on her romantic partner.”

“Captain, this is not rational thinking.” Spock said. “I believe you have chosen to fixate on my relationship with Mollie because you see it as something you have a chance to gain control over when in the last eight weeks, decisions and destinations were taken away from you by Starfleet Command.”

“Mollie’s not here for anything but this mission, Captain Kirk. This isn’t a social visit. She didn’t wake up four days ago and decide to come out and play with us.” Tralnor allowed his disgust at Jim to show on his face. This was his sister after all.

“Look, Jim, if you don’t get your shit together right quick, I’m going to declare you unfit for duty, and that’s final.” Bones had on his serious doctor face. This wasn’t a game anymore. The lovelorn captain was hanging from the bottom rung, about to fall into a dark chasm. “We’ve all got work to do, so let’s get to it.”

The Vulcans vacated the premises post-haste. Bones lingered for a moment. “You’re lucky Mollie is an understanding soul and won’t be lodging a complaint about your behavior. She’s a fucking diplomat, Jim. You know better.”

“It’s only temporary. She goes back to plain old Mollie when this wraps up.” Kirk corrected.

“ _Enough_. One more transgression, one more snide comment, I will pull you off that bridge so fast your head will spin. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

  
  
  
Des Farmer’s corpse was unceremoniously sent out into the great void of space like a piece of garbage. Laura got some crew to clean up blood, hair, and flecks of brain that dried to the floor, then got them to patch over the holes her gun made.

Back in her garden shed, she broke the weapon down to clean it. All the pieces set out on the workbench, she marveled at how simple a machine it was.

“Good work in there.” Silvo congregated in her doorway. She left it open sometimes if she felt like interacting with people drifting by.

“You too. Liam wouldn’t have made it without you.” She threaded a patch through the cleaning rod.

“What the hell were you thinking when you shot off that antique?” His eyes danced over her, memories of better, naked times bounding through his head.

“That the Fragile Goods bays are the two places aboard Sweetness where I can discharge this weapon and only damage the meatbag I hit. I wouldn’t dream of using it anywhere else. Besides, the P38 is a lot more fun than a hand phaser.” A dribble of solvent on the patch, and she turned on the heavy-duty exhaust fan.

“You know the Nazis were genocidal maniacs, humans killing humans?”

“Of course I do. I said what I did down there on Melbek III to rile them up and scare the shit out of them and because I knew it would really get to Franklin. Though I have to say, it was an awe-inducing experience to use this as a weapon instead of a conversation piece.” Only someone like Silvio could bring up the Nazis and not see the direct parallels to the AVDL’s methods, marketing, and beliefs. Somehow the persecution of non-human sentient species was okay and the SS slaughtering millions of people was not.

“Still, it’s probably for the best if you keep that thing strictly for planetside work.”

“And it’s probably for the best if you don’t tell me what to do, Mr. Mazzi.”

  
  
  
Rec Room 2 was aflutter, truly a standing room only affair. The Kennuk decided to keep up the ritual, indulging the crew instead of continuing their preparations. An extra chair pulled up front for Mollie, and Tralnor was ready to go. The wall screen came to life, subdivided into four sectors. Joe had one corner and looked like he needed to sleep for the next three days. Buster and Nola signed in from their engineering firm’s ShiKahr skyscraper office. Buffalo Bill waved from the passenger compartment on a commercial transport. Arnold was in his living room. Only Joe knew where Mollie was until those links went live.

“I knew you guys were up to no good.” Captain Cody shook a finger at them. “What _can’t_ you tell us?”

“Everything.” Tralnor said. “Honestly, all we wanted to do was let the four of you know we’re going incognito for a bit and not to flip your lids when you suddenly can’t get ahold of us.”

Undeterred, Buffalo Bill knew they were full of shit. Something huge was on its way. “I understand Spock and Sha’leyen. They’ve got the miles under their belts to handle incognito situations. You and Mollie? You, no way, Tralnor. I don’t want to insult you, but your duties in the music and teaching worlds don’t get you far in hostile settings. Mollie’s gone out on Vulcan research vessels, she’s got her space certs, and that’s admirable, I worry that’s not enough training for the shitstorm I know you’re walking straight into.”

“I’m not insulted, Bill. I know I’m the weakest link and will try my best not to fuck things up.” A musician did not a good artifact hunter make.

“Don’t worry about me and start losing sleep.” Mollie crossed her legs and repositioned. She’d done far too much sitting in the last few days. “I’ve been studying up on techniques you might find helpful as the member of a landing party to a dangerous place. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Fine.” Buffalo Bill gave in. “I don’t have to like what you’re doing, I just have to support you.”

“We don’t have to like it either.” Nola said. “Fingers crossed, you guys.”

“I believe you are going to surprise a lot of people with your success. You will come back.” Arnold still looked like a shaggy bum.

“Mollie, you were supposed to call me when you landed. What the hell?” Joe, still at the Big House, leaned out of the sofa. “Don’t mess with me like that.”

“I’m sorry, Joe. I got carried away from the moment I got here.”

“Have any of you heard from Sohja in the last two days?” Tralnor doubted they had, but asked nonetheless. Three heads on the screen indicated negative. “What about you, Joe?”

Bergman wrinkled his face like he wasn’t sure he’d seen their friend, then looked into the camera, his eyes broadcasting a particular blankness. “That’s not what I thought for tomorrow. The sour cream is in the fridge.”

Simultaneously, Tralnor and Mollie raised their heads slightly, saying in unison, “ _Shit_!”

“Damnit, Joe.” Tralnor started placing a call to Justin.

On her feet, Mollie snapped her fingers and called Joe’s name, trying to get his attention. When that didn’t work, she grabbed a pile of books off Tralnor’s desk, carted them over to the table between him and Spock, and slammed them down as hard as she could. “I’sa-yuk, Joe!” _Wake up_!

Joe startled at the loud noise, saying like nothing strange had happened, “What’s going on? You look worried. I don’t like that you look worried. By the way, nice outfit, Mollie. Snazzy, very official.”

“Who’s at the house with you?” She shepherded the exchange away from incidentals. Emotional inflection of concern purposely tinged her voice to keep his attention.

“Just me and Ambassador Scary Uncle, why?”

“We were asking if you’d seen Sohja lately, and you slipped into grey-space.” _This is why we should have waited until this was over with before starting him on the Tago t’Sochya_ , she thought.

“Justin is in San Francisco with my daughter at a school program. Livia’s in LA for the day attending to her practice. T’Lal is out of contact. Grandma Nora is in surgery doing a spinal cord repair on a windsurfer.” Tralnor reported.

“You do not have a choice but to call my father.” Spock weighed in.

“Ugh, really?” Joe wasn’t pleased, but too bad. “Christ, we only spent half the afternoon lecturing at one another over the reasoning behind the Federation’s indifference to the Guernsey Consortium. I say it’s cultural. He says it’s economic. Chalk and cheese.”

“Grey-space is a form of catatonia wherein part of the mind unconsciously slips into the meditative trance. You do not have the experience yet to keep yourself from going there.” Spock tried to make Joe comprehend that this was something he couldn’t joke his way out from under. “Until such a level of competency is achieved, you will need an overseer.”

“Spock, you’re slaying me.” Joe wearily regarded the sound of someone coming up the stairs.

Buffalo Bill chimed in. “Don’t be a sack, Joe.”

“You’re not helping, Bill.” Joe countered.

“Suck it up, buttercup.” She waved at the camera. “Duty calls. Thanks for the warning that you’re about to fall off the face of the universe.”

“We’re going to take that as our cue. Good luck and stay safe.” Buster said.

“Fight on, you guys.” Nola disconnected.

Joe nearly whined, “ _I don’t need a babysitter_.”

“You need a well-practiced telepath to help keep you on terra firma in this plane of consciousness.” Arnold said. “The Ambassador is one such person and the only available at the moment.”

Arnold blinked out and Joe said, “Damnit anyway.”

Sarek arrived on scene and stood next to the human.

“Good evening, Sir.” Tralnor said. “Thank you for agreeing to help.”

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’re probably going to have to get inside his head.” Mollie didn’t care that Joe was rolling his eyes and hamming up his desire to not involve the older man.

Sarek looked to the human on the couch. “Whatever must be done. . .”


	82. Chapter 82

Sohja emerged from the Tube into the bustling streets of London’s financial district. Ostensibly, she was in the City to attend a meeting at Companies House HQ. Like she had at Trego Delta, she’d chosen to pad out her trip, this time to learn more about Kevin and Jerry Radovitch.

She met up with a former classmate from her MBA program. Charlie Zamora looked pretty good for someone living and working in the shark-eat-shark world of the City. They entered a coffee shop that at 6:30am had been slammed for hours. Hot drinks and pastries procured, they caught a prime window seat.

“I know you were studying to be Dr. Sohja back when we were in the Masters program. What did your Ph.D. wind up being in?” Charlie was excited to see her after years of barely crossing paths at Homecoming celebrations and London-based alumni events.

“My dissertation was titled: _Human cultural practices in commerce settings with an emphasis on verbal exchange and body language cues: a comparison and contrast of successful companies and those on the verge of insolvency_.”

“No wonder you’re so good a what you do for a living. To be honest, I’d rather have you overseeing the ruthless people in the corner offices than compete against you for that same office.” He twirled his swizzle stick, causing a miniature vortex in his cup. “So, thank you for keeping us honest and taking down those who aren’t.”

“When I inquired, you said you could tell me about the Radovitches.”

“Um, yeah. My flatmate during our third year at Cambridge was a summer intern for the Rad-o-lite whatever it is company and got in good with Jerry’s daughter by his first wife. My friend is still married to Sienna Sumner nee Radovitch.” Charlie treated Sohja to a pared-down tale of intrigue that ended with Kevin disowned and destitute.

“What are the qualities Kevin possesses that make him so contemptible?”

“Apparently, Sienna has always found Kevin to be odd, creepy, and generally unsavory. There are a lot of years between them. She was home on holiday from university and found her much younger brother masturbating in her bed whilst cuddled up to the stiff, maggoty corpse of Newman, the family’s kitten. She never stayed at the house again.” Charlie closed his eyes to the scene playing out in his mind. “And after Sienna and Sum had their first child, Jerry was forced to come over here, alone, if he wanted to spend any time with his grandson. They refused to expose their son to Kevin’s morbid perversions.”

“I understand Kevin was losing his trust fund.” She shouldn’t have been taken aback by additional claims of reprehensible behavior.

“Well, he was supposed to go to Starfleet Academy and serve in good standing for a certain number of years to make Jerry happy and willing to keep Kevin included in the estate.” Charlie bit into his flaky French pastry, flecks of butter-layered loveliness bailed to the table and dusted his knuckles/cuffs.

“That seems reasonable.” Sohja knew trust funds were allowed any number of stipulations a recipient had to fulfill before the accounts were accessible.

“It does, doesn’t it? Nobody will be shocked to know Kevin had a few incidents when he was in school. Sum told me they got the call one night when little brother was being held after he was found dressed as a doctor and trying to gain access to the morgue at San Francisco General Hospital.”

“He was not arrested?”

“Sounds like he should have been. I also heard that there was a high school girlfriend who he liked to have play dead.” He bared his teeth in disgust.

“Revolting.” She stared into her coffee, having lost her appetite.

“Uh-huh. I don’t know what happened after Kevin hopped his first ship and how he wound up cut out of the trust, but I ran into Sum and Sienna at an event last fall. Jerry was on a rampage, apparently said Kevin had done something so horrific, that he immediately wanted the money set aside for his son to go to his grandkids instead.”

So close to figuring out the detail that set off the industrial espionage, Sohja was disappointed to have the fulfillment of this particular quest evaporate into the horizon, just another mirage. “Kevin has gotten into more trouble, beyond what set his father off. Therefore, I have additional questions. I am asking on behalf of the captain of Kevin’s last ship, and trying to stay discrete.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“Speak of this to anyone and you will regret it immensely.” She pre-empted.

“I figured I’d be sworn to silence the second your involvement with Starfleet came up.” He made a series of motions she wasn’t entirely familiar with. “Cross my heart and hope to die. My mouth is sealed.”

“Kevin has been caught out stealing military information for Violet Crest Industries.” She was stopped before she could ask anything.

“Sienna is on her father’s board. She—You know what, my office can live without me for one day. Let’s drop in on Mrs. Sumner. She’s got a specialty bakery in Chelsea.”

  
  
  
Sienna Radovitch-Sumner was as likable as her brother was repugnant. “Where did you find your clothes? They’re amazing.”

“I made them.” Sohja scanned the walls of the baker’s office, noticing the photos of famous people and the bespoke confections Sienna created for them.

“Oh, I wish I had the patience for that. I can pipe baby’s breath on a cake until doomsday, but sewing is one of those skills I could never pick up. You don’t happen to take commissions?” Sienna smiled wide.

“I do not, though I have made a few items for close friends.” While talking about the process of making her personalized World War II era wardrobe was more appealing than discussing a necrophile, Sohja had to right the conversation.

“My baby brother is. . . I hate to speak ill of anyone, but he’s not a very good person. He’s got too many, um, undesirable traits to be very likable. When I heard from Daddy that Kevin got into the Academy, the first thing I wondered was how much he’d paid to get the boy through the admissions process. I was just as amazed when he actually graduated, thanks to some form of cheating, I’m sure. Since then, Sum, Daddy, and I have silently wished that he’d meet a hero’s end on some hostile alien planet. Is that awful?” Sienna’s conflict regarding her brother ran deep.

“No, Sienna, it’s not awful, not at all. And don’t feel bad about thinking that way.” Charlie consoled. “You’re being way nicer than I could.”

Sohja explained herself, handing out more and different details than she’d given to Charlie alone. There was no need to wear down anyone’s resolve to stay loyal to a criminal family member. Sienna had multiple stories about her brother killing animals, harassing girls he liked, shoplifting, doctoring his school transcripts so Jerry wouldn’t cut off his allowance, it made Sohja want to get into Kevin’s Academy admissions file. How had he passed the psychological fitness assessment?

“Oh, that’s horrible.” Sienna’s hands went over her mouth at learning why her brother had been court-martialed. “I’ve never understood him, why he does any of this, but to take some of the body of a fellow officer? I hope he’s never released from jail.”

The baker knew Sohja hadn’t gotten to the final point yet and dreaded what the Vulcan would say next. After outlining the industrial espionage, a thoroughly dispirited Sienna gave the missing context. “When Kevin was in high school, Violet Crest made a move to forcefully buy-out The Rado-lite Company. Daddy swore they’d get his business over his dead body. The situation was the only thing he’d talk about for years. Tammy, Kevin’s mom, couldn’t put up with the stress and divorced him. I don’t think Kevin has seen her since.”

“Kevin blames Jerry for driving his mother away?” Charlie thought that was a suspect explanation.

“Kevin blames a lot of things on Daddy, not just Tammy leaving.”

“What is the stronger motivation for stealing information for Violet Crest, getting back at your father or money?” Sohja was glad she never had to meet this necrophile.

Sienna had to ponder the question. “Honestly, money shouldn’t be a problem for Kevin, unless he liquidated his stock portfolio, in which case, he’d be forced to contend with nothing more than what Starfleet pays ensigns. If he just wanted to get back at Daddy, joining forces with Violet Crest is a sure way of doing so. Let me check on something.”

Sohja and Charlie talked about what their old classmates from business school were up to while Sienna went into another room to make some calls to New York. They were discussing someone who’d gone on to be a successful talking head on a market analysis show when their host returned.

“He sold it, every last share, about five years ago.” Light on her feet, Sienna wavered on her way back to her chair. “Humiliating Daddy for money, there has never been a more Kevin action in the history of the universe.”

  
  
  
Knowing the deadline her friends were working against, Sohja took her new revelations directly to James Kirk. She’d not expected to find the captain of a Starfleet ship looking so close to ending it all. In the business world, when suicide felt like the only option some humans thought they had to escape the stress, pain, and shame of losing their companies, their livelihoods, their futures, they adopted a distinctive pallor and set of mannerisms. The subtlety of this change in behavior and mood might be lost on those who spent the most time with the affected, but she knew it when she saw it.

An exchange of polite greetings quickly flowed into her relaying the extensive stories Radovitch’s sister told. What Sohja and Charlie guessed might turn into a couple of hours worth of conversation became a day-long marathon, finally ending over dinner at a posh restaurant. Sienna had such a sense of relief when it was all over that Charlie said it was the most relaxed he’d ever seen her.

“So, this is just the first time he’s been charged for—One of my other sources just calls him Corpse-fucker— but he’s been caught on at least six other occasions. I agree with you, Sohja, I can’t imagine how he passed the mental health evaluation to matriculate into the Academy.” Kirk, dressed in green today instead of the more typical command gold, was trying to hold himself together. More gruesome news about a member of his crew was more weight on the roof getting ready to cave in.

“Sienna Radovitch-Sumner believes that Kevin, Jerry, or both of them, paid to rig Kevin’s admission. She says the same thing about her brother making it through the program, he had to have cheated.”

“He did.” Kirk said. “We’re still working on who it was helping him out. His file is a brilliant fabrication, stolen letters of recommendation, falsified grades, he even faked attending conferences and workshops.”

“In my work amongst humanity, I have encountered many people who have multiple sociopathic personality traits, which are needed to get ahead in the business world. Purely nice people simply do not have the competitive drive to take actions they view as harmful to others. However, having sociopathic personality traits does not mean every human in the business arena is a callous cut-throat. It is on the extreme edge of this behavior profile where grudge-holding retribution-artists like Kevin occupy the dark corners. He is of the ilk that he will do anything and harm anyone to get what he wants. Jerry Radovitch is in the way of Kevin acquiring the money he thinks is rightfully his. Lt. Commander Tay and Lt. Seltun were in the way of his desecration of a corpse. His poor academics were in the way of his graduating the Academy. Until he encountered Sha’leyen, he’d always engineered his own success.” _Just like you’ve always engineered your own success, Captain Kirk, but it hasn’t worked lately and it’s bogging you down_ , she thought.

“Some people just suck, and Kevin Radovitch is one of them. Commander Blaedel is going to love this new stuff. If the prosecution can get Jerry and Sienna to testify on their side, this horror show can finally conclude.”

“The court-martial process allows for the admission of prior bad acts?” Sohja was unfamiliar with Starfleet’s justice system.

“If they can’t get it admitted into evidence, it will get in through character witnesses. We, Starfleet, nails him on the grave-robbing and espionage aboard this ship, then the civilian courts have their fun with him.” That thought brought a look of satisfaction to the captain that lasted for two seconds before fading back into the death pallor.

“It will come as a relief when he is officially sentenced and quarantined away from the rest of us.” Sohja agreed on that.

Kirk’s gaze wandered off into the ether.

“Captain?”

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to fade out like that. Is there anything else I can do for you, Sohja?” He grinned because he forced it.

“You are not actively thinking it, but your subconscious is seeking a permanent solution to whatever the overwhelming emotional situation is in your life right now. I have seen this in humans many times.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, but I’m perfectly fine.” He was a bad liar.

“Some have complete nervous breakdowns, others purposely sabotage their careers and the symbols of their working identities. The rest fall under the heading of suicidal, attempted or completed. What these people all have in common is that they did not seek appropriate help at the right time.” She stared him down, knowing he’d worked with Vulcans and would see this as a highlight to how serious her speculation was.

“I’m not a businessman.” He tried to avoid her eyes but stared right back, trying to hold his ground. “You don’t know me.”

“One does not have to know a person to identify that something is going wrong. You believe me presumptuous. I see this intervention as the start of saving someone’s life, regardless of my familiarity with him. Do not become another body fished out of the River Thames three weeks after jumping off an embankment.” She wrote down a comm number and held it up to the camera. “This is for the Samaritans. They are completely non-judgmental and entirely confidential. Day or night, someone is always there to take your call. What you are experiencing right now is not weakness. Stress harms to a lot of people. You are not too late to stop the spiral.”

He rubbed at his face. “Thanks for your time, Sohja. I should go.”

“Take down this number and we can bid each other a good evening.”

Kirk inscribed the sequence on a data padd.

  
  
  
The connection lacked a video feed, which Kirk was just fine with. He didn’t have to say who he was, where he was at, or what he did for a living. There was no past relationship with the person on the other end to trip him up about what he could say without worrying about offending someone.

He talked.

The other person listened.

Voice raw, he pushed through, poured his soul into the air. . .

“You want to have control over something in your life, that is understandable, Sam.” The accent, from the South of England, soothed his ears, a definite reminder that the person on the line was impartial. “You’ve mentioned that your company is transferring you at the end of the year and you want to cement your relationship with your coworker before then.”

“I do. Sp—He’s the most important person in my life.”

“There is an ancient saying, Sam. If you love someone, set them free. . .”

Kirk finished the line, “Should he come back, it’s meant to be.”


	83. Chapter 83

Tralnor, not in a uniform that morning since he was with the activated Kennuk and therefore not technically a member of the crew at the moment, was the first to arrive at Sha’leyen’s office. At least that’s what he thought. Spock and Mollie, dead asleep on the lumpy purple love seat, held on to one another like drowning people clinging to floating wreckage, limbs entangled, faces touching. Fully clothed, Tralnor knew they’d come back here after the evening festivities in Rec Room 2 and simply collapsed into one another instead of doing whatever work they’d planned.

He went to the officers’ mess for drinks and the best pieces of “fresh” fruit he could find. When he returned with breakfast, Sha’leyen had her unexpected overnighters awake and cogent. He handed off coffees and set the fruit on the desk.

Grateful for the caffeine, Mollie gulped at her coffee. “Do we know how Joe and the Ambassador are doing?”

“Not yet.” Sha’leyen, sans uniform, looked like she felt out of place in her own office. “You two go get cleaned up and we’ll see you when you’re feeling more lively.”

“You’re on edge this morning.” Tralnor said after Spock and Mollie left.

“I don’t like that we have to take you.”

“I know I’m a liability, and that I don’t have the years of fieldwork and training that you’ve got, but I think I can do this.” He was going to state his case for why having a psion with his abilities on the team was a positive when her lips quivered and she forced back a tremor of intimate emotion.

“Tralnor, that’s not what I’m worried about. I know you can handle the outdoors and defend yourself in a physical confrontation.” She came around the desk, placed a hand on his shoulder and tilted in for her first real kiss, granted freely to a person worthy of sharing such a gesture. “I fear that we’re going to lose this, lose us, to the Mair-rigolauya’s fate.”

She tapped the side of his skull and he held that hand against the place she touched. “You can’t allow the fear to intrude and create sinkholes that pull you away from the mission at hand.”

“That’s a difficult directive to follow when you’re in love with the fourth in a Kennuk who is also the most open to attack of all of us.” Freed from his hand, her fingers traced his ear, followed the angle of his jaw, became a fist held over his heart.

“I love you too, Sha’leyen.”

  
  
  
“What the hell do you think they’re up to?” Lt. Avery poked his head around the corner, watching as Spock and Sha’leyen disappeared into the shuttle bay and engaged a lock.

“I wish I knew.” Sarah said. “Whatever’s going on, this is the real reason Dr. Tralnor was brought aboard the Enterprise, not that he isn’t doing a wonderful job of turning the media lab around in spite of that shit-for-brains Lt. Chavez.”

The two young officers went up to the keypad on the door. Sarah picked a random string of numbers and entered them into the system. A readout screen flashed a warning at them. They backed off immediately when _By Order of Presidential Decree_ filled the readout. Not even Captain Kirk had the authority to break the embargo on the shuttle bay and figure out what these people were doing.

“Let’s look at who’s attached to this top-secret whatever-it-is.” Sarah followed Avery into one of Engineering’s many hidey-holes. “Commander Spock, Lt. Commander Sha’leyen, Dr. Tralnor, and Dr. Mollie.”

“I remember when Dr. Mollie was our Red Coat for high school band day.” Those infamous half-time shows put at least ten high school marching bands on the field to play with the USC band. Each high school ensemble was assigned a liaison to help the day run smoothly, and Mollie always volunteered for her brother’s students. “Those were good times. . . So, there’s the Chief Science Officer, Detective Sargeant Bioarch, The Music Man, and Professor Math.”

“Their main occupations aren’t what’s brought them together as a unit, because if that were true, The Music Man would be out, simple as that.”

“Sarah, what about this? Three of them grew up together and the fourth was supposed to marry Dr. Tralnor.” Avery made the link.

Sarah immediately agreed, a dire conclusion rushed into her head. “Alton, I think they’re dealing with a _Vulcan Problem_ , something far outside the scope of mere mortals like us lads.”

“Define Vulcan Problem, Sarah.”

“Or its at the very least an issue that can only be dealt with by powerful and highly trained psions.”

“But, what’s the problem?” Avery didn’t have enough information to make even the stupidest guess.

“I don’t know, but its got the potential to be life-changing in a not very good way.” She was thinking so hard, her brain skipped some beats.

“This is when I ask you to explain life-changing.”

“It’s the gut feeling that I’m getting.” She held her hands up, defeated by her brain’s inability to deliver the vocabulary she needed. “I can’t explain it any better than that right now.”

“Tell me when you do?”

“I have to run this past Seltun. He might have a better idea than I can come up with.” She just about started to leave, noticing Avery’s downcast gaze at her mention of Seltun. “Alton, it wasn’t going to work between us, not like that.”

“I know, Sarah.” He wasn’t angry. No hard feelings. “You and the Krampus, who saw that coming? No one, that’s who.”

“Definitely not me.” She said, glad to revisit their friendly banter. “Here’s something scary, he wants to introduce me to his parents.”

“Oh, crap.” Avery got them back into the hall and moving. “He’s really serious about you.”

“I’m really serious about him. All of this downtime, we’ve been getting to genuinely know one another, and he’s. . .” Again, words failed.

“Have you boned him yet?” Avery teased, knowing he’d get a good swat to his arm. “ _Ow_!”

“Alton!” She got him a second time just because. “ _You ass_.”

“Hey.” He rubbed at the stings. “Me and the rest of the lads have wondered and we can’t get ol’ Krampus to say.”

Sarah leaned in and almost-whispered, “Not yet, but we will.”

“Take it easy on him.”

“Not to worry.” She caught Dr. Tralnor and his sister on approach having just stepped off the lift several meters down the hall.

“Dr. Tralnor.” Avery refused subtlety and stopped their Teacher. “If there’s anything we can do to help, all you’ve got to do is ask.”

Where it was strange to see Tralnor in a Starfleet uniform for the first time all those weeks ago, it seemed just as off now that he was wearing more typically Vulcan civilian attire. “Of course.”

“Best of luck.” Sarah offered. “Even though Vulcans don’t believe in luck.”

“Thank you, Sarah.” Tralnor said.

“We’ll be needing it.” Mollie added.

  
  
  
Sick bay was at low tide, no patients cluttering up beds or cubicles. Sha’leyen and Mollie walked straight to the head of the line. They’d decided to humor the doctor and let him check them over before they left in the morning if it would keep him off their backs and allow them to focus on their mission.

Mollie stayed in the main area as the Lt. Commander went off with the doctor, both talking about some sort of surgery in the works after the Kennuk returned. Like most of the ship, this place hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d been here. Counting back, she concluded her most recent visit to the Enterprise was five years, three months, and nine days ago when the ship was under the governance of Christopher Pike.

She could see why Enterprise was slotted for a refit. Compared to her mother’s facilities at Los Angeles County/USC Hospital, the equipment and infrastructure in this sick bay was showing its age. It was becoming harder to integrate newer equipment into the decades-old tech this space was originally designed around. Looking at an overhead vital signs readout that bordered on antiquated, yes, it was time for a much-deserved facelift.

Mollie powered it up, just for the novelty of seeing something she’d not set eyes on since she was a teenager. Spartan in its display, it showed practitioners only what they needed without tossing a pile of ancillary information that might only be useful later.

“Why does he love you when he could have me?” The voice emanated from a person so divorced from verisimilitude that she mentally leered at Mollie.

Trying to ignore the nurse, Mollie shut down the vitals readout and kept her back turned.

“It doesn’t make any sense.” The nurse continued to approach. “You’re nobody, a glorified hanger-on who can’t see that his ship has sailed. He can’t rely on you to be there when he really needs you. I’m here. I. Am. Here. For. Him.”

Mollie didn't give her the satisfaction of even twitching a muscle in reaction. 

“Me. He will _seek_ me, take _salvation_ in me, _love_ me.”

“Goddamnit, Christine. Are you trying to get yourself shitcanned?” Dr. McCoy’s gruff shutdown stopped the nurse.

Turning to face Nurse Christine, Dr. McCoy, and Sha’leyen, Mollie got her first close look at Spock’s stalker-in-chief. Trim, blond, clearly intelligent if she was posted to a starship, Christine probably felt she was on the wrong side of forty, under-appreciated, and terrified of facing the rest of her life without a man by her side. It was too easy to pity this woman, so Mollie wished her the growth and inner-strength to develop enough confidence to believe in her own worthiness.

“Look at you, you and Sha’leyen have never had to work a day in your lives to make the right men interested in you. Spock looks right through me like I’m not even there. Of course, someone like Dr. Tralnor, who’s like me, having lost the loves of our lives to outside forces, takes up with a new woman within hours of arriving onboard.”

“Chris, let it go and get back to work.” The doctor was deliberately being gentle with her, sparing the rod and trying to keep her head together.

“What’s it like I wonder, to make love to a man who’s that amazing?”

Mollie wasn’t about to answer that, but Sha’leyen opened up.

“Even I don’t know that one, Nurse Chapel.”

The nurse gave a girly giggle, part teasing a more complete response out of Sha’leyen, part completely crazy. “Of course you do, Lt. Commander.”

“I have yet to bed Tralnor, but until that time comes, here’s a little detail for you to chew on seeing as you have comprehensive knowledge of my reproductive dysfunction: _I have never had consensual sex_.”

Mollie watched the bite and tease drain from Nurse Christine’s face as comprehension of what Sha’leyen said settled in. Stunned, the nurse closed her eyes against the world.

“Office, now.” McCoy ordered. “And don’t come out until I say you’re done for the day.”

“Yes, Doctor.” If she weren’t so light-headed from reality pounding her in the gut, she would have run.

  
  
  
Inventory lists quadruple checked, system diagnostics run on No.742’s onboard computers, a last tune-up on the engines, the Gulfstream was declared fit for duty. The very last items stowed aboard, save for the passengers the following morning, were Sha’leyen’s Vulcan histories. When the vehicle was locked down tight, the Kennuk made a break for dinner followed by one last ralash-t’mu-yor.

Tralnor played a violin solo while Mollie accompanied him on piano. Someone asked if she’d be willing to swap places with her brother and do a piece on the flute since there was one available.

“Truth be told, I’m so out of practice on the flute, I’d humiliate myself up here. My primary is English horn and I double on second or third oboe when and where it's needed. I do apologize.” She’d need a good week of practicing to get the fingerings separated in her mind from oboe and another month before the muscles in her face readapted to the instrument.

Ready to join Tralnor on whatever he picked next, an incoming call put that plan on hold.

“Hold on.” Tralnor crossed to the table and hit the connect button. Sohja was contacting them from London, Parliament and Big Ben behind her. He said, “You’ve been a difficult person to get ahold of lately.”

“That is by design. I have been pursuing financial information on a certain criminal case.” She said. “Mollie is with you, so you are leaving soon?”

“Tomorrow.” Tralnor confirmed.

“I am reaching out to see if you need anything from me before I leave earth and return to location scouting for Joe.” Nothing in Sohja’s demeanor betrayed the concern she surely felt for her friends. If anything, the dark green blouse and black suit jacket seen in the frame made her emotionless face seem that much more stark.

Mollie got up from the piano bench and stood next to Tralnor. “Joe’s going ras-kurwilat on us. T’Lal put him on the Tago t’Sochya.”

“The grey-space can be dangerous for someone ill-equipped to get out. Should he not be on Vulcan for such training?” She moved a few steps to avoid being in the background of a tourist’s photo.

“No one expected T’Lal to get called away on business.” Mollie was not going to get into any I-told-you-so declarations. “Ambassador Sarek is keeping watch on him.”

Sohja’s brow shot up. “Is that wise?”

“Desperate times.” Tralnor commented.

“Indeed.” Sohja probably thought the filmmaker and the diplomat were caught in a Mexican standoff with no chance of a lasting peace between them.

Tralnor said of his father, “Justin is Kayva’s primary caretaker right now. He can’t babysit Joe at the same time.”

“Can you check in on them, please?” Mollie hated to ask.

“I will make the arrangements when I get to Heathrow.”

“Thank you, Sohja.” Mollie was more worried about Joe and Sarek than for the Kennuk in the next few days. “And if Grey-space or Heart Condition give you any shit, tell them you’ll tattle to Grandma Nora and Auntie Theresa.”

“Breaking out the heavy artillery early.” Tralnor nearly laughed. “That might just work.”

“I believe such a threat will have the desired effect.” Spock said.

Sohja readjusted to her neutral demeanor, before she said, “California, here I come.”

  
  
  
This was Tralnor’s first time in Sha’leyen’s quarters. While the space was identical to most of Enterprise’s single-occupancy cabins, this was her private refuge that she did not share with anyone else. Sparsely decorated save for books and completed cross stitch projects, it said little about the woman who’d lived there for almost a decade.

He removed his shoes as she asked and took him by the hand, leading him into the sleeping area. “Sha’leyen, I can’t, I won’t. . . neither of us is ready.”

“All I want is for you to hold me so I might wake up in your arms tomorrow.”

Tralnor nodded. “I can certainly do that.”


	84. Chapter 84

“Heat.” Mollie said as she entered Spock’s quarters. “Blessed, beautiful heat.”

She shed the outermost layers of her clothing, leaving on a thin tank and her bra. After taking a moment to soak in some warmth, she went to the temperature controls and turned the thermostat up another six degrees. “In a few minutes, it will be perfect in here.”

(I would not want you to be cold.) Spock's words in her mind felt like home.

(I’m going back to Vulcan.) She opened his closet and helped herself to one of his meditation robes. (I’ve hit my breaking point. I don’t know how you can keep doing this day after day. I look at Tralnor, and he blends in so well on both sides. I’m constantly asking myself why can’t I be more like him? I’ve tried, but I can’t, that’s not me. Honestly, I’m tired of humans and their warped expectations. I’m tired of Los Angeles. I just want to go back to being a mind-raping shadow-walker and nothing more. . .)

He started making a pot of birkeen-hirat tea. (If that is the way you feel, you should return.)

(Speaking of humans, have you figured out what you’re doing about Jim?)

He didn’t know the answer to that. A whip-o-whirl of travail and self-doubt rolled off him and dusted her mind with a caustic powder as planted into him by Jim Kirk. Spock was haunted by the fact that no matter what course of action he took, it was the wrong choice.

(Can we forget about the tea, Mollie?)

(What tea?) It was hard to interject lightheartedness into such a tense conversation. She held out her hand. (Come here.)

Spock couldn’t move, remaining fused to the floor. She made her way around to him and gently grazed the back of his hand. Their fingers found one another’s and she lowered her mental barriers to seek his complete state of mind. The snarl of thorns and jagged glass she encountered behind those clear brown eyes drew an involuntary gasp from her throat. (Spock, why did you let it get this bad? If I’d been aware of the extreme state of your suffering, I’d have figured out a way to get to you and help you dissipate some of this pain and confusion. This is so much more than a couple of calls a month could ever touch.)

(I refused to be a burden.) Her deep concern for him was a point of shame. (I encumber you enough as is.)

(There is no burden.) The last time she’d been in his mind, it was as neat and orderly as the way he presented himself to the world. Upon this entry, she was swept up by gale winds and funnel clouds of tumultuous emotion threatening to touch down and tear him apart. (I’m your friend and I’m also a T’Kehr who’s trained to guide people through these mental storms.)

She’d already started to draw down and ground some of the excess, like discharging static electricity. This was part of their old ritual of seeking and finding comfort and solace within one another. He gripped her fingers, almost afraid of letting go, but was nagged by something in the back of his mind that told him he hadn’t earned this kind of respite from her, that he shouldn’t want or need it, he tried to back off. (Spock?)

(It has been a long time, Mollie, since I have experienced this sort of intimacy.) Since the last time they were together. He tried to turn his head in such a way that she couldn’t read the internalized disgust on his face. (The people here do not understand how much I pine for such touch. They see me as cold, lacking sexuality, and not capable of giving or receiving love.)

(You are worthy, Spock.) She had to remind him.

He couldn’t agree with her, not right then, perhaps not ever. Even as he acknowledged that he wanted and deserved to be treated with respect rather than an object to be won, or regarded disdainfully for not having retained his virginity an additional two decades, he couldn’t think his way out of this conundrum. He fought to make sense of the mixed signals, where he was at once the subject of lust and treated like he was made of stone, no one taking into account his requirements from a relationship, he was lost.

She was a corporeal and psychic refuge from his chaos, a real place he could go, but outside forces insisted she was off-limits. He quashed his base desire to touch her face, knowing that the second he did, he’d start down the path of action Jim Kirk feared the most. (I do not want to use you so that I might feel good for a fleeting moment.)

She’d never seen him in such a dark place before. (Do you want I should sleep on the shuttle? I can go if you want me to.)

He pulled her close. (Please stay. I do not want to be alone right now.)

  
  
  
Kirk stared at the ceiling, counting the panels and rivets. Kuznetsov lay next to him, dead to the world. Knowing he wasn’t going to get back to sleep, he went out to his desk and fired up the terminal. He told himself he was getting some work done when what he was actually doing was re-reading the same transfer request nine times. Lt. Commander Marjorie Knowles wanted off starship duty to join her husband at the Lindon Colony, where Starfleet officers were in high demand. The captain thought he’d see this weeks ago when it became obvious she could no longer hide her pregnancy. He gave it the electronic rubber stamp treatment and moved on to the next item in his queue.

Mr. Scott had sent yet another report on the pristine condition of his engines and how they could do with a bit of a tear around “to keep the works from gumming up.” The engineer also complained that he was having to farm his guys out to Starbase 21 just so they had something to do. Kirk wanted to tell Scott to keep his hair on but didn’t want to make mention of Advanced Aerospace.

He continued to grind away at little bits of nothing, a way to occupy himself so he didn’t have to think about the activities taking place a few doors down. Spock was fucking Diplomatic Envoy Mallia Ah’delvna and it was crazy-making. Why did it have to be her?

Kuznetsov appeared at the demarcation between the sleeping and living area, clothes not even a blip on her radar. “I can try to kiss it and make it all better.”

Kirk didn’t respond. She strode out where he could see and appreciate her tantalizing form. While she distracted him from the pain of the moment, she couldn’t make the source of his troubles go away.

“What is wrong, Jimmy?”

“Nothing.” He said, the false conviction might fool some people, but not the captain of the USS Dragon.

“You are a bad liar when it comes to matters of the heart.” She sauntered into the living area, a visual delight for the primal parts of his brain.

“He brought her here, to my ship.” He clenched his hands. “How could he do that to me?”

“Spock did not bring Mollie here.” Kuznetsov wasn’t understanding the depth the insult of the presence of his first officer’s so-called friend had on him. It was like taking a volley of burning arrows in the center of his chest. “President Cullen and T’Pau sent her.”

“He knows how I feel about her and he’s fucking her right under my nose.” His vision blanked and all he could see for a split second was Spock thrusting himself into her. “Unbelievable.”

Hands on her hips, head tilted to the side, Kuznetsov said, “A case of do as I say, not as I do?”

“This is different and you know it.”

“Here I stand, bits of you dripping down the inside of my leg. How is that any different than what he’s doing as we speak?”

“I looked up her location on the computer.” He poked at his desk terminal. “I know she’s in his quarters.”

She put her fists on his desk and leaned toward him, her breasts pushing together, level with his face. Then, she said, “Good. I hope she’s there all night and they screw until they can’t sit in the morning.”

  
  
  
Sarah David yawned and blinked heavily, trying to stay cogent enough to continue her research. Coffee mug to her lips, she expected cold and bitter but was rather unhappy to find it empty. She shoved the cup away, where it joined three other mugs, two plates, a cereal bowl, three spoons, a fork, and a salt and pepper shaker set, all nicked from the officers’ mess throughout the day. From the moment she’d left Alton, she nestled into one of the small lounges, only leaving for bathroom breaks and food.

Boots, socks, and tunic removed, she tried to sprawl on the built-in seating, but it wasn’t designed for that. Surrounded by data padds and chits, she was seeking out what she could about Vulcans working in groups of four with an emphasis on people with the most astute psionic abilities. There was something of vital importance about the number, otherwise, Dr. Tralnor would not be going off on this mystery mission. As a hyper-empath, he was too vulnerable. Why four and how was Dr. Tralnor significant to the positive outcome?

She’d not had any luck in the Enterprise’s computer banks, which did not surprise her. The Vulcans were a secretive people and kept information at a premium. With all of the mainstream sources long exhausted, she turned her focus to a collection of scanned books and manuscripts from Clan Lyr Saan. These were the volumes Dr. Tralnor and Lt. Commander Sha’leyen were instructing Sarah, Alton, and sometimes Seltun from as part of continuing study into Vulcan ways.

A quick count gave her a tally of one-hundred-and-twenty-seven separate titles to go through. Since they were scans, essentially files made up from pictures taken of the real pages, they weren’t searchable by keywords or phrases. She had to manually glance over each volume. That was a grand undertaking but nothing was going to challenge her like deciphering the text itself.

After working with Dr. Tralnor in high school, instruction at university, and partaking in three levels of intensive training at the Starfleet Language Institute at Monterrey, California, Sarah competently spoke and read Modern Golic. Any words outside of her vocabulary were easy enough to look up through the Enterprise’s language learning software modules. That had been fine for certain bodies of work she’d been looking at. Some of the books from Clan Lyr Saan were translated into Modern Golic. Of course, none of them were in Federation Standard.

The difficulty began with the Lyr Saan language and its peculiar evolution into its contemporary form. Unlike some Vulcan dialects that basically only took a careful ear to tease out the differences from the official language of their world, Lyr Saan was unique. Old Lyr Saan, as she’d learned from Sha’leyen, was composed of Ancient Golic from the overlords, an odd assortment of Classical Latin and Attic Greek from the human genetic contributors, and the slave lingo used to keep the masters in the dark. The bridge from Old Lyr Saan to what was spoken today also had updates from Modern Golic and injections of Belonectic. Belonites who followed the Reform mostly took up with the Lyr Saan and left their mark on the language as well.

Sarah found herself going through texts, seeking out prefixes, suffixes, and root words, finding meaning in those components and from the overall context. Another person might get frustrated or angry that they had to spend so much time and brainpower on translation work, but as the T’Kehrs iterated, learning the language of the Clan was a beneficial part of their studies. She just found herself toward the beginning of her journey and needed advanced skills she’d not acquired yet. Therefore, she had to make do.

Close to blinded by exhaustion, she knew there was no time to casually flip through thousands upon thousands of pages. She made the choice to evaluate each book by title and table of contents, if they had one, and dig deeper into those that seemed the most useful. If she didn’t find what she needed, she had no choice but to go back through and make a more meticulous pass, only she had to get some sleep before doing such deep dives into the material.

Pinching her cheeks and the backs of her hands, forcing some awareness, she’d made it through sixteen books and knew she’d hit the wall. One more title and she was done, a weight in her gut that she’d not figured out the fate of one of the most important people in her life. Volume seventeen didn’t look like much, just a dry treatise on the Old Lyr Saan justice system. Sarah blinked out for a second, drifting into a micro-sleep, then jerked her head up. It was in the contents that something finally caught her eye.

Chapter Nine, the title she translated as _The Foursome Investigates_ , sent a jarring blast of adrenaline into her system. It wasn’t two paragraphs into the introduction that she came across a new concept and its sinister connotations: _Kennuk-Talse’te_.

  
  
  
(You should see yourself.) Mollie threw her head forward and laughed. (It looks like you’ve got a scraggly moustache—Oh! That’s it!)

He increased the speed and intensity of each flick of his tongue, drawing a satisfied moan out of her. She bucked her hips and squeezed her thighs against his ears before holding her arms out to draw him up where she could kiss his face.

Concerned about his performance, he asked, (Am I not pleasing you?)

(I don’t want to go off and take you with me before the main event.) The smile didn’t drop from her face as she pecked him on the lips and let the backs of her fingers brush the side of his neck. (We’re not going to have time for a rematch before that shuttle leaves in the morning.)

(A convincing argument.) He returned some of her kisses, more interested in watching her expressions of joy at this joining. At this point in these encounters, a transition to a more serious mood took place, giggles and grins, silly small talk, and laughter that made their foreplay so exhilarating always slipped to the wayside as he readied to physically exist within her.

She held him tight against her, creating as much skin-on-skin contact as she could, bringing that much more depth to the psionic element of their lovemaking. Minds lightly entwined pulled the weave tight creating a communion where a terminally lonely man forever on the outskirts found a safe harbor, a place where he didn’t have to put up a facade. Their bodies remembered the dance, how and where to touch or move to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible.

Tender, but not erotic, still loving, without the romance, this expression of their friendship, as unconventional as the human realm believed it was, helped still unquiet minds and mend bruised souls. Here, he was wanted, no stipulations on his acceptance. Encapsulated in a swirl of her warmth, her body as accommodating as her psyche, he buried himself to the hilt.

Their coupling came to its natural biological conclusion, orgasm bathing their brains in a rush of neurotransmitters. As bodies separated, their minds did not let go. She layered his somnolent thoughts into her own, where he remained in her shelter of perfect accession and infinite empathy as they slipped into a dreamless sleep.

  
  
  
Kuznetsov told him to stop acting like such a child so Kirk responded by huffing off and seeking out Bones’ wisdom. He didn’t need to listen to that in his own space.

“Do you know what time it is?” McCoy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and let Jim into his quarters.

“He’s leaving in an hour.”

“Jim, don’t do this to yourself.” The doctor, awake enough now to pour the captain a drink, handed off a dose of his standard medicinal spirits.

He threw the booze back, taking it all in two big glugs, welcoming the different sensation of the alcohol burning his throat and tingling his stomach rather than the inwardly directed gloom and irritation he’d been focused on. “I’m going down to the shuttle bay to see him off.”

McCoy made to stand in front of his door, ready to block Jim in if need be. “That’s a lousy idea and we both know it.”

“I have to, Bones.” Kirk peered through the thick bottom of the glass, appreciating the distorted view of his feet, sort of seeing what he felt while trying to navigate his life since Melbek III ransacked everything. “What if he gets killed out there?”

“We don’t know what’s going to happen, but I think it's better for everyone if you stay away.”

“I can’t have my last memory of him be his back fading into the distance after I pissed him off.” He held a hand out to his friend like he was waiting for a life preserver thrown from a pool deck. “I need to see his face so he knows I couldn’t leave things the way they were.”


	85. Chapter 85

Sarah nearly stumbled as she crammed her swollen feet back into her boots. Standing and sitting for the previous twenty-four hours made for ill-fitting footwear. Yesterday’s tunic back on, she bolted as fast as her legs could propel her down the halls. Once in the domain of the Junior Officers, she ran into her quarters and sifted through her belongings in such a way two of her roommates woke up and told her to not be so inconsiderate. Things she needed in hand, she was off again.

Already awake and on his way to the gym, she picked up Alton with no hassle and they raised Vince Biltmore with ease. Three rings at Dr. Tralnor’s cabin and no response, Sarah used the flat of her hand to pound on the door.

“Wake up, damnit! Get your asses out here.” The noise finally got Billy the Sixth to open up.

“What is wrong with you?” Billy was too sleepy-headed to actually be mad at her. Andy Pickett swore and Chris O’Dell threaded his beanpole of a body between Billy and the doorframe.

“The man of my dreams is in trouble, am I right?” Chris said as he stood next to her.

“Trouble of a kind you can’t even imagine.” Sarah replied. “Andy, Rohit, Seltun, let’s move!”

  
  
  
When her internal clock told her it was time to wake, Mollie felt Spock’s arms around her, his thoughts inside her, and she wished they didn’t have to shake loose from this toasty cocoon. He came into consciousness and placed his forehead on the back of her neck.

(What if this is as good as it gets?) He held on until the very last second, reluctantly disengaging from Mollie’s body and mind.

She turned over, faced his sad eyes, and gathered his hand, clasping it between her own. (We’ll figure it out, Spock.)

(Whatever comes, Mollie, know that I am sorry. I did not intend for—)

Mollie shook her head, stopping the sincere but unneeded apology. (We’ll figure it out.)

They crawled out of bed and she fumbled her way into the bathroom, he continued to pull his mind back into his own head. She hopped into the shower for a quick rinse, emerging a few minutes later to find him standing in front of his open closet studying an old photograph.

(Bathroom’s yours.) She said, taking in the sight of Glennap Castle and focusing on the two of them huddling into one another, trying to avoid the misery of the rain. She missed those simple days when they were young children.

(If our parents had overridden T’Pau’s choice and placed us together, would we still feel the way we do about one another or do you believe a romantic love would have developed between us?) He glanced at the photo once more before sliding it back onto the top shelf.

(I don’t know.) Mollie had no idea and had never seriously considered the question before. She reached up and playfully ruffled his hair. (Let’s finish getting ready.)

  
  
  
Psych meds and alcohol were never a great combination, but Dr. McCoy made a decision he thought worked in the captain’s favor and poured two more shots of whiskey down Jim’s throat. The doctor was more thankful than ever that his friend was not a mean drunk. More malleable and easier to control in this state, it was less of a problem that they go to the shuttle bay together as a sendoff brigade.

“I am keeping you on a short leash, Jim. You say goodbye and we leave, fast.”

“Just so long as I get to say that to him, to his face.” Maudlin, Kirk wandered after McCoy.

“And not a word to or about Mollie.” He warned.

“Spock is the only one I’m speaking to.”

“Good man.”

They made for the lift and walked the quiet halls when a herd of stomping feet and excited voices barreled toward them. A mob of eight junior officers blew past much like a flock of excited geese.

“Isn’t that Dr. Tralnor’s little bunch?” Jim stared after them.

“With Lt. David as the ringleader du jour.” McCoy didn’t like what he’d seen or heard out of the group. “Those kids sounded awfully concerned for a bon-voyage party. Something’s not right.”

“Shit.” The captain started running for the shuttle bay.

  
  
  
No longer locked and off-limits, the interior doors of the shuttle bay were open. Tralnor looked at No.742, knowing that if push came to shove, he could probably fly it, but the weapons systems were out of his arena of awareness. Any ass-kicking and fancy flying, he wanted Spock and Sha’leyen to handle because as seemed usual since he stepped aboard the Enterprise, Tralnor was in over his head.

All four of them, dressed in austere black travel clothes, might have passed as funeral attendees. The semblance was not lost on him. He heard Mollie say something about a pre-flight checklist when a crowd registered to his ears. (We’ve got visitors.)

It sounded like a track meet on approach. When the whole compliment of lads burst into the bay it didn’t come as much of a surprise. Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy were hot on their trail. Sarah was more excited than Tralnor thought he’d ever seen her, practically on the verge of tears.

“Dr. Tralnor!” She didn’t stop running until she was less than a meter from his face. “You can’t leave yet.”

“Sarah?” He was concerned that this normally level-headed person was fighting shaking hands and a quavering voice.

“This, the four of you—” She started braiding a chunk of her hair, grappling with the tremors, and had to give up to let Seltun finish the job. “A Kennuk-Talse’te is three primary investigators and a—”

The other three members of the Kennuk emerged from the shuttle and stood behind him. He tasted Sha’leyen’s worry that this well-read human girl had figured their mission out and what they’d do if she did. “Sarah, I—”

“ _You’re the sacrifice_.” Sarah gasped then clenched her jaw as a way to keep her emotion in check. “The spare, the one who offers himself up for the sake of the mission if things go bad.”

“What is this?” Captain Kirk moved in from the edges.

Seltun, a sharp kitchen knife handed off to him by one of the lads, cut the braid from Sarah’s head. She tied it off on the cut end with a strip of cloth torn from someone’s pajamas. Her next move was to drape the hair around Tralnor’s neck and wrapped those ends together with a piece of necklace chain that was then secured with a length of purple sewing thread.

“I know this isn’t the real thing.” Sarah said. Chris handed her an ancient lighter for a bunsen burner. “But we can’t let you go out there unconsecrated, not when—“

He felt as a small clump of hair was snipped from his head and swallowed down his own fears of the near future. “It’s not your place to worry about me, Sarah. None of you should worry.”

The scent of singed keratin took the air as the strands were set alight.

Standing beside her, Seltun said of the lads’ collective actions. “We have to do this, Teacher, in the case you do not come back.”

Kirk carried on in the background. “Will somebody tell me what in all that is holy is going on here!”

“Should you have to take the Path of Dying, we won’t let you walk it alone.” Sarah lost her fight against the tears but shed the tremolo from her voice. “Etek satau kudayalar, T’Kehr.”

“And I send my blessings to you as well.” Tralnor’s words were faint. If asked, he couldn’t offer odds on the likelihood of his return, though they probably weren’t good.

“ _Goddamnit_. Spock, you’re not taking him off somewhere to die, are you? This isn’t some ancient Vulcan hoodoo where you’re using him or his mental abilities to cover your own ass. If it is, I don’t give two shits what some fancy piece of paper has to say. He’s not going. None of you are going.” Breath smelling of liquor, the captain shed his slight drunkenness and slipped right into his leadership role. “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Captain, set in motion, our mission—” Spock appeared staid, but Tralnor sensed the first officer’s shaken core.

“You can’t, Spock. . .” Kirk acted like he wanted to start grabbing people and pull them away from No.742. “ _Don’t do this_.”

Sarah took out one of her blue topaz stud earrings and pushed it through the empty hole in Tralnor’s right earlobe and quickly followed with the second on his left. She was ashamed by her tears. She stepped away toward the lads, holding her hand up in the ta’al. “Sir. . . I can’t, I can’t say it.”

Tralnor returned the salute and approached his young friends. Some of the guys started to get weepy-eyed. “Sarah, all of you, it has been my honor to act as your Teacher. Never stop learning and never stop sharing the knowledge you acquire.”

“Spock?” Kirk begged for the Vulcan’s attention. “At least promise me you’ll come home, please.”

“None of us can make that oath, Captain.” Sha’leyen said. “We will come back if we are granted that luxury.”

From the lads, to the captain, to the doctor, Tralnor felt all the fright of the unknown, anger at the fates, and hatred toward the mystery the Kennuk faced. He held out his hand to Sarah, collecting on the shake from his first night aboard the Enterprise. As their palms touched, he said, “It was good to see you again. Thank you for the Rites of Re-induction.”

She nodded, Seltun getting an arm around her as she let go of Tralnor. “Thank you for adding more meaning to our lives.”

The captain gave up all sense of decorum, quit seeking answers that weren’t coming, and pulled his first officer into an intimate embrace. Lips to Spock’s ear, Kirk said, “You are my Ashal-veh, my Buk, my Panu.”

 _My beloved, my fate, my world_. . .

A light kiss on Spock’s cheek. “You don’t have to love me, just come home.”

  
  
  
_Fuck, Jimmy_! _Why did you have to do that in front of those kids_? _Making a fucking fool of yourself_. Kirk’s face burned as Bones escorted him to his quarters.

“You get in there and get some sleep, Jim.” McCoy opened the door and dragged him in. “Or don’t get some sleep.”

“Hello, Doctor.” Kuznetsov, wearing socks with her birthday suit because her toes easily got cold, raised a glass of orange juice. “I’ll take it from here.”

The doctor didn’t avert his eyes from her naked form, acting like she was sitting there in her normal duty uniform. “Nice doing business with you again, Captain Kuznetsov.”

As the door closed behind Bones, Kirk took the glass from her and sipped the sweet liquid. “I thought you’d be gone.”

“I’m a bit of a sucker for a sob story.” While her quip was meant to be funny, she didn’t sound it. “What did Spock say?”

Looking off into nothingness, he half-shrugged. “He said that he’d try.”

  
  
  
The lads huddled around their cabin, everyone staring at the now eerily empty bunk that still had Dr. Tralnor’s personal possessions about. They didn’t know what they’d witnessed down in the shuttle bay and were almost too upset to talk about it. Sarah dished on the workings of a Kennuk as she’d gleaned from that book. Humans might be tempted to think of Tralnor’s role like he was a benchwarmer for a sports team, but that wasn’t an accurate comparison. As The Spare/The Sacrifice, he was left out of a group meld the other three would enter into when they got to doing whatever it was the President demanded. Unattached from the small hive-mind, he’d run interference and do what he had to do in order to keep them safe and building toward their collective goal.

“How is that fair? How can someone just get a letter and be okay with offering up their life for the supposed greater good? I wouldn’t listen to President Cullen, T’Pau, or all the admirals in the Fleet.” Andy Pickett was the first to go off. “I’d get my bony ass out of that situation as fast as possible. AWOL or not.”

“He’s not being forced.” Sarah said. “It’s just what he’ll do. That’s the kind of person he is. If sacrificing himself will let the others live, that’s the path he’ll take, regardless of orders.”

“He exemplifies the Vulcan life of service as Surak said we should all adopt.” Seltun followed. “It is not fair. The universe has its cruelties, but a man like Dr. Tralnor will make things better for those he can.”

“Do you really think he might die?” Billy the Sixth hadn’t stopped shaking his head since before they watched Shuttle Direct No.742 take off.

“He’ll be fine.” Alton tried to encourage.

“What if he’s not?” Billy wasn’t finding a silver lining.

  
  
  
“Sam, you said what you wanted to your coworker. Regardless of whether you got the response you desired, you got your words to him. Now, it’s entirely up to him to actively reciprocate your feelings, if that’s the way he feels about you.” The voice from England helped keep Kirk pulled together after Kuznetsov returned to USS Dragon for the day.

“What if it’s not enough?”

“As we’ve spoken about before, when you force control on the uncontrollable, nothing of value comes from those scenarios. Love and friendship are organic and must develop as nature dictates, otherwise, relationships lack authenticity.”

He didn’t have to like what this helpful stranger had to say but made himself listen and synthesize her advice and learn from her understanding.

“Sam, are you still there?”

“Still here.” He said, thinking of the genuine affectation he’d seen in his brother Sam’s marriage. Jim didn’t need to have it all like Sam shared with Aurelian, because it probably couldn’t be that way with Spock and the Vulcan customs that moored him. _Just a touch_ , he thought, _that’s all I want_.

“Do you recall what I said toward the end of our previous conversation?”

“I can tell you my part: If he comes back, it’s meant to be.” He decided to hold out and hope the old saying came true.


	86. Chapter 86

On this trip, Laura’s ship was known as MV Diamond Doll. Silvio had chosen the temporary moniker and was most proud. The volatile first officer showed up to accompany Veddah from his cell to the airlock and spent the entire walk making threats.

“When you get back from this scavenger hunt, Pretty Boy, I'll make sure you’ll never fuck her again. _If you try, I’ll cut your dick off with a rusty pair of scissors_.” Then, snarling, he said, “Do you understand?”

Veddah knew not to respond to him and didn’t give any indication that he’d heard or cared what Silvio said. If he played to this idiot, Laura might not get there in enough time to set off the Sentinel slave beacon again and Silvio would die.

“I’m sick of you cockblocking me. You don’t look like you’re old enough to shave and you were crying like a pathetic pussy when she laid you the first time. You’re not the kind of man she needs. Shit, you’re not even a man.” He chuckled as he herded the Vulcan into a lift. “And I’m going to get back in there and remind her of what fucking really is. She’s going to scream my name while I pound you right out of her. I’ll have her on her knees, begging for more when I’m done.”

Leaning into his bond, drawing on her mirth toward Silvio, Veddah still resisted verbally sparing with him. He could not open his mouth, if he did, he’d let slip that Laura was his wife and trigger an epic battle with the worked up first officer. Instead, he focused on what she’d said to him back on Trego Delta, that she made love to him and fucked Silvio.

As they entered the bay that connected to Pezig’s Gate’s Orbital Transit Terminal, Silvio downshifted and appeared almost pleasant. “Don’t forget, Captain, I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

“Remember to keep someone on the comm station at all times.” She said as she handed some things to Veddah: Airk Collier’s wedding ring and a short stack of cards and chits.

“We’ll have our lines open for you twenty-four/seven.” Silvio grunted at Laura’s left hand. “What the hell is that for?”

“Since our little ploy worked out so well at Vittel’s Star, I thought I’d run with it again.” The saccharine in her voice was a knife’s edge.

“Just sell the damned thing and be rid of it. Arik’s too.”

“ _But Silvio, how else will I tell people that Veddah is my husband_?” (Don’t you dare start laughing, Adun.)

(To his face.) Veddah replied, amused at the blatant mocking she pushed at her second-in-command.

(And he’s too fucking dumb to appreciate the connotation.) Laura grinned. “Keep the leave rotation as is. If anyone gets arrested, suspend them without pay. Have Morgana run the shakedown simulations and please have someone hose down Franklin. I smell the smegma from here.”

“Yes, Captain.” Silvio schmoozed.

“I don’t think we’ll be down there any longer than a week, so until then.” She waved Silvio out of the bay. (Memorize all the information off the passport, health services card, and cultural resource management profile.)

Batai Zhalan-t’Mazhyon. Testing his new name out in his mind, Veddah was impressed with the quality of Laura’s forgery. If he didn’t know this identification wasn’t a total fabrication, it looked entirely authentic to him. He put his new-to-him wallet into a front pocket, picked up the luggage she’d packed, and followed Nyleen Connelly through the airlock.

  
  
  
Off-road capable vehicle rented, Laura drove them to Sandia’s Office of Cultural and Historic Preservation. She expected a line staffed by a lone drone that would take hours to wind its way from the door to the counter and was caught off when she and Veddah walked right up. The request for their Back Country Exploratory Permit was possibly the smoothest transaction she’d ever had with a governmental organization.

The person who waited on them, like everyone they’d encountered so far, was more concerned about offering good customer service than the possibility of a notorious criminal arriving at Pezig’s Gate to steal archaeological discoveries. Laura nodded along like she cared about the penalties for not declaring items of significant monetary value. The mysterious box she and Veddah were after was undoubtedly one of the most captivating pieces of pre-Reform Vulcan archaeology on this world and Sandia would let it go because a simple box was worthless, old junk Pezig’s was glad to see go away.

She and Veddah signed and dated a flurry of documents, emphasis placed on the ones that said the government was not responsible for any death or dismemberment out in the back country. No reimbursements, no lawsuits, no claims of negligence, Pezig’s Gate’s crafty lawyers earned their keep.

“The clerk did not take notice of our names, just that we appeared something like our photos.” He climbed into the front passenger seat and buckled his safety belt.

She turned the vehicle on and plugged the name of their hotel into the navigational computer. “No one’s given a shit who we are, yet.”

Checking in at the Sandia Regent Hotel and Casino, it became that much more evident Pezig’s Gate existed solely to cater to people who came to gamble/shop away their lives or springboard into the Halliday System. Rich outdoorsy types mingled with roulette addicts. The planet billed itself as the sector’s best shopping destination and home of more Five-Star chefs per hundred thousand people than anywhere in the Federation.

The man who checked them in didn’t look at Laura’s ID and wasn’t bothered to ask for Veddah’s. Their bellman thought they’d ridiculously overpacked for a few days of throwing dice and guzzling wine. Not many visitors based their visits on going out into the mountains and escaping civilization. After giving the bellman a sizable tip to get him to go away after dumping their cases by the door, she sprinted for the bed and chucked herself into it so hard the slats groaned.

“This mattress is lumpy as shit and it's still better than any built-in on a starship.” She grinned at Veddah as he approached and crawled in next to her. “Do you want to look at the maps they gave us at the Preservation Office or go downstairs and find something to eat or something else?”

“I will comply with whatever you choose.” Propped up on his right elbow, he looked at her with a kind of reverence she found out of place.

“No, Veddah, I asked what you want to do. I was only offering some suggestions.”

“I want to listen while you about tell me your happiest memory.”

She thought he’d say something about checking the weather forecast for when they left tomorrow. This was most unexpected. “My happiest memory, huh? I don’t have many.”

He reached over to her, touching her cheek. “I did not want to upset you.”

“You’re not.” She clasped his wrist. “My happiest memory is you, that you want me despite what I am, that you somehow see value in me, that you give me new perspectives in this echo chamber I exist in.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“Veddah, you’re saving me from myself.”

  
  
  
No.742 set down in the short-term small craft bay at the commercially operated space station called Northern Pacific. The first objective was to sweep the shuttle for bugs, transponders, tracer chips, and sniffers. Second, they needed to install a couple of spook devices as provided by T’Lal.

“This is very old.” Spock held a teapot-sized electronic module, turning it over in his hands to examine the strange specimen. “What did our parents say it is?”

“They called it a Sling Wave Amplifier.” Mollie was working with Sha’leyen to get the flooring removed from the co-pilot’s footwell.

“It’s a good thing we waited to put it in and power it up. Starfleet would shit themselves if they knew you had this.” Sha’leyen wedged a thin pry bar between the center console and the adjoining side panel. “They’ve been trying to get their hands on one of these for over a century.”

“So, what exactly is it?” Tralnor was unrolling the new cling graphics that would cover the Shuttle Direct logos and rebrand their transport as belonging to a private geologic survey company.

“Sling Wave Amplifiers create false warp signatures, ion trails, tachyon distortions, mock sunspot radiation, it’s designed to make you damned hard to follow. They throw out tons of powerful fake sensor data that overwhelms a pursuing ship. The first ones were named because of the dangers involved in sling-launching ancient pre-Reform ships into space. In their earliest form, they basically turned up the intensity of the wake they left behind and distracted anyone coming after them.” Sha’leyn got her side loosened and Mollie was just a few bolts behind. “You can tell by the welds that the one you’re holding, Spock, isn’t that old. If it’s not from Belon, it’s from the Belonite industrial moon, Kapra. Only the design is old.”

“Where did you learn about this?” Spock used his free hand to take the footwell and set it between some seats behind him.

“My adoptive grandfather was a freighter captain and brought a unit to the house in ShuraKahr one night. He told us about using it to break the embargo on the Reichman System so he could sneak refugees into the Federation.” Sha’leyen held out the magnetic dish for Mollie to drop fasteners into. “It’s said that with one of these you don’t need a cloaking device. I don’t know the veracity of that claim, but it will be a useful bit of kit.”

“I’m turning the heat up to make these clings more malleable.” Tralnor warned, not that this group would complain. “It’s too cold out there to get them to lay flat and shed their wrinkles.”

“The hotter the better.” Mollie said. “Okay, switch with me Spock, now that the part that needed tiny hands is done.”

Netikov Geologic Services was the name they’d chosen for their mock company. The word ne’ti-kov was Golic for sedimentary stone. Take the pronunciation markers out and it looked like the last name of a human of some kind of Eastern European descent. A joke for those in the know.

“What is the other piece of equipment we’re installing?” Sha’leyen queried from her cramped position over the center console.

“It’s technically a TCAS, but it’s had some magic sprinkles added to it so it engages an overwrite code through the shuttle’s computer that shuts down No.742’s real Ident Transponder.” Mollie had a case open near the deposited footwell panel. “Then it broadcasts whatever we program it to say who and what we are. That’s the way I understood it when T’Lal explained it to me. She said she’s had this since her tramp freighter days.”

“That sounds like my mother.” Tralnor commented. “At the house on Myrtle Street, she’s got an old two-car garage that’s full of random bits that she’s picked up on her galactic travels.”

“And car parts.” Mollie added. 

Tralnor agreed, “Yes, and car parts.”

“T’Lal is an interesting person formed by some interesting circumstances.” The bioarchaeologist said, then contorted to hand Spock a screw threader.

“Interesting is not the word I would choose, but it sufficiently describes her.” There was a high-pitched whir as Spock tapped the holes into metal surfaces and fixtures.

The Gulfstream’s hull looked decidedly less glamorous after its cosmetic alteration. Mollie touched a graphic. “We’re the bigwigs at Netikov Geologic Services. We’ve got our luxe corporate shuttle, suites booked at the exclusive Kensington Holloway Hotel, and the evening we arrive, I have us scheduled for a dinner party with the Minister of the Interior, Lincoln Portman. I know it's not in our collective nature to throw money around, but I think if we show Mr. Portman a good time, we’ll get a pass to do anything we need, and he’ll keep us from being interrupted.”

“I hope to hell we find Laura right there in Sandia and don’t have to tromp after her into the forest.” Tralnor found one last bubble and took a scraper to it to flatten it out. “This will be a lot less dangerous if we’ve got her in the clink and can search out that box without racing her to it.”

“And you need to pretend like you know enough about geology to not blow our cover before we get the chance to go looking.” Mollie raised a brow at her brother.

“I gave him a reading list.” Sha’leyen said as she stepped out of the shuttle. “A bioarchaeogical perspective should be good enough.”

“How about this: I stay upstairs while you three are at dinner, that way I can’t open my mouth and mess things up.”

“Oh, no. You’re not taking the easy way out on this one, mister.” Mollie waggled her finger. “Don’t be such a fungus.”

“Hey, Mollie?” Tralnor turned in such a way his face was only visible to the Kennuk.

“What?”

He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue.

  
  
  
“I’ve got to show you something, Veddah.” Laura hefted her suitcase onto the foot of the bed. Once open, he couldn’t see anything attention-worthy. She moved some lingerie and got him thinking. Silvio often complained that she wore her sexy undies for a Vulcan who couldn’t possibly understand what they were meant to do, which made Veddah appreciate her good taste in undergarments all the more.

Done scooting around her unmentionables, she lifted out the black and green granite box they’d taken from the collections at Trego Tech. She lifted the lid, tilted it so he might see, and let him absorb what he glimpsed. He’d wondered why her personal luggage weighed so much. It had been loaded down with rocks, the box and the haul of diamonds inside it.

Laura said, “We’re not going back to Sweetness. This is our chance to run.”


	87. Chapter 87

Jim Kirk surveyed the faces around the conference table. He’d called his command team/bridge crew together to finally give them the news they’d spent weeks waiting for. Enterprise would be on the move again within days. No one seemed more pleased than Lt. Commander Scott.

“I don’t know what you said to the heathens at Command, Sir, but whatever it was, good on you.” Scotty beamed. “The bairns will be right pleased.”

“I’ve been enjoying my extended time in botany.” Sulu said, serious but not serious.

“I haven’t.” Chekov uttered. “I don’t ever want to see or hear about Starbase 21 for the rest of my career.”

“Do we have a definitive departure time, Captain?” Uhura smiled with the rest of them, well, everyone but Dr. McCoy.

“Bones, do you want to take the next bit?” Kirk didn’t want to shatter the mood.

“You’re the captain, Jim.” The doctor deferred.

_Damn that man sometimes_! “There are some stipulations in effect regarding how and why we’re getting back out there.” He told himself it was better to break the news this way instead of sending out an electronic memo or announcing it over a group comm. “Now, I don’t like what I’ve had to do, but I did it for the good of the ship, her crew.”

Happy faces faded, replaced with tense concern. Scotty was the first to say something. “Is this to do with Mr. Spock leaving like he did?”

_Oh fucking hell, don’t remind me_ , Kirk thought. “Nothing whatsoever, this was a plan the CMO and I put together.”

The engineer let himself smile again, curious about the start of Enterprise’s newest adventure. “Well then, Sir, this will be interesting.”

“Tomorrow, at 0830, we’ve got some—” Jim coughed and tried to catch his thoughts.

“We’ve got a few visitors coming aboard.” The doctor helped that much.

“The Enterprise has been pulled into a special project through Advanced Aerospace Research and Design.”

Nearly unflappable, even in the face of utter devastation in the darkest reaches of outer space, Scotty dropped his coffee and had to put his head between his knees.

  
  
  
Sohja’s driver stopped right outside the front door of the Big House. “You do not have to take my luggage in for me. Set it at the foot of the steps and I will manage from there.”

“Only if you’re certain.” The man, a proper livery driver, nothing like the cabbie in Campbell City, complied with her request, wished her a good day, and kept his opinion about her and her people, if he had one, entirely to himself.

Leaving her luggage outside, she ascended to the porch and rang the bell. To her relief, Justin MacCormack greeted her. “They’re upstairs arguing over a game of Risk.”

“Perhaps they have worn one another out and will sleep for the first few hours of our journey.” Sohja wasn’t blithe on that. Long days filled with feuding whilst trapped aboard a shuttle made her wish it didn’t take two liters of vodka for her to get a buzz on.

“I can send you with the squirt bottle we used on Daisy and Esmerelda when they were kittens.” Justin motioned for her to follow. “How was London?”

“Damp.” She said. “I believe it makes the tea taste better. Fog off the Thames and the _International Business News_ whilst watching the city from the window of a cafe are the garnish that makes it great.”

“I like a woman who knows her tea.” Justin guided her into the kitchen. “Which is why I’m offering you a coffee. My wife has struggled since we first met at teaching me to make a proper cuppa.”

“Two sugars and milk, please.” Sohja was always struck by how much Justin reminded her of his son.

“Coming up.” He got the coffee machine running, placed two sugar cubes in the bottom of her mug and tipped in the milk to get the crystals to start dissolving. “Don’t be too hard on them. They’ve wound up in an unenviable situation and the going is rough from here out.”

She watched him stir the hot liquid into the contents of the cup. “I will be. . . lenient.”

“Do you want me to get your bags or do we have to tell on you for straining yourself?” Joe was about a third of the way down the stairs. “Your wife will have my ass. I promised her—”

Justin let off a groan. “A dippy ticker won’t stop him, but Amanda might.”

“Let us hope.” She accepted her coffee and looked up at the ceiling where she followed Joe’s steps to the other side of the house.

“Maybe you can lace their food with sedatives?” Justin was only half-joking.

“ _Put it down, Sir_.” Joe’s muffled voice came through.

Sohja got a couple of big sips of her coffee. “We should go up there before one of them has an aneurysm.”

  
  
  
Shuttle Direct No.213 waited for them in the tractor barn. From the outside, there were few visible modifications. This vehicle wasn’t privy to the same treatment as No.742. The plan was that only one of the shuttles was going off into the firefight.

Sohja had Joe in the copilot’s seat so she had live feedback on the checklists. She didn’t fly the modern Gulfstreams very often and liked the built-in double-check from the person at the other yoke. “How are you, Joe?”

“Nervous as fuck. I’m scared his heart is finally going to explode.” He pointed out the front screen where Ambassador Sarek was deep in conversation with Justin MacCormack. “Neither one of us is a cardiologist.”

“I am aware of the Ambassador’s health condition.” She looked out into the barn and gauged the seriousness of what the older men said. “What is the condition of your health right now?”

He threw a sequence of switches and set some navigational parameters. “Ask me in a week or two. If we survive our little mission, I’m packing my shit and moving to Vulcan. The press will hear I’ve gone there to go to a fancy rehab center or some shit like that. I’ll do my job as well as I can from so far away. I worry it’s going to take years to get my head sorted, but I don’t suppose that can be helped. I have to go through with this or I think Scary Uncle will be right, I’ll wind up jumping off a bridge or developing full-blown alcoholism.”

“You will be the first acolyte at Temple Kotekru Kaylara to shun the vestments and study in a Hawaiian shirt.”

“Are you trying to make me laugh?” He viewed her with mock suspicion.

“That is a distinct possibility.” She had a mild perception of the hurricane in Joe’s head. “You are more relaxed when you laugh.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so damned tense.”

“I too would experience much tension if locked into a meld with someone like Ambassador Sarek.” Shuttle fired up, all she needed was the third party to board so she could comm the regional ATC center and take off.

Joe did laugh at that. “Oh, no, Soazh. That’s not it.”

“My name is Sohja.”

There was a warmth in his eyes that he broke out when she was near and it was only for her. “Having him in here with me is a good thing, really. He’s not listening in on my thoughts or anything like that. I mean, I know he’s there, kind of like the hum of a fan in the background. He’s a stabilizing influence so my mind doesn’t split and wander like it's known to do these days. That shit is scary.”

“The meld working?”

“Yeah. My concentration skills are improving again because my neurons aren’t all caught up in torturing me about the murders. I almost feel like my old self again, and if this is what the Tago t’Sochya can give me, I’m there with bells on.” He acted like he wanted to say more but didn’t speak.

“Joe?”

“Huh?”

She’d not heard a single dick joke yet, meaning he was not as well as he wanted her to believe. “You are not concerned about the emotional controls you must put in place for your long-term wellbeing?”

“Awe, that’s sweet. You’re worried about me.” A bit of a boyish grin graced his features. “Let’s say the benefits outweigh a potential change in how I show off my sparkling personality.”

“I commend you on making this decision. I thought you should have continued with the Lyr Saan after you got your Mark.” She was proud, not that she’d show it, that he’d gone through the process of attaining the ulidar t’kafeh. It proved he was much stronger than he believed.

“You know, I thought about it.” He craned his neck to get a better view of their friends’ fathers. “Sometime today would be nice, dudes.”

“What stopped you?” She too was starting to get edgy about leaving and wanted to tell the men to get moving.

“Life. I was in the middle of the _Frozen Star_ trilogy and negotiating for the film I was making after those wrapped and still on my quest to get _Celluloid Vokaya_ back.” The conversation out front looked like it was breaking up until Sarek turned and started talking again. “ _Oh, come on_.”

“If you need any help while you are with the Lyr Saan, I have the freedom in my job to set most of my own schedule. I can serve as your proxy.”

A whiplash of shock hit him. “You’d do that? Really?”

“I know how much your career means to you, Joe.”

“Holy balls, Sohja. That’s— _Really_?”

“You are my friend, Joe, and the last I was informed, friends help one another out.”

He held his hand to the center of his chest. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Finally met with the sound of Sarek boarding No.213, the current situation took over.

“Last check.” Justin stepped aboard. “Is there anything else you need before taking off? You have enough food and bedding?”

“Food, yes.” Even though she was ready to put California in the rear-view mirror, Sohja said, “We will take more blankets.”

They watched as Sarek settled in, wasting no time in bringing out a data padd, he’d be fine for now. Sohja wanted more than anything for this trip to stay fine.

  
  
  
“I think he wants to kill me.” Kirk said to Kuznetsov and McCoy as they lunched at Starbase 21’s Waffle Supreme. “And that’s not figurative speech. He wants to _kill_ me.”

“If I were Mr. Scott, I’d want to kill you too.” Kuznetsov poured more cherry compote on her waffle. “That you did not include your second and third in command in the planning stages of this Advanced Aerospace clusterfuck is a grievous lapse in judgement for both of you.”

“Yeah, we got that figured out all on our own.” McCoy grumbled and took a long draw from his sweet tea.

“They might blow up your ship.” Which was her telling Kirk she thought he was a massive twat.

Jim stabbed his frittata imagining it was Admiral Nogura’s face. “Don’t remind me. I’m afraid there won’t be enough of her left to take home for a refit. I got a friend to see what he could find on Wild West Show’s recent bust-up and got the same thing you told me Lyudmilla. Billie dropped out of warp because something felt wrong. Another six-seconds at speed, they’d be in tiny pieces floating around the Abagdar Sector.”

“This was my damned idea.” Dr. McCoy picked at his food. “And I had the medical science to back up why we should do it. I’m sorry, Jim.”

“Hey, I went along with it and didn’t tell anyone. I’m more culpable because I’m the captain.”

“When are Captain Cody and her team of rabble-rousers getting here?” She held her coffee cup out as a request for a refill.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Well then, Jimmy, we should probably make the best out of tonight,” Just a little naughty, she peered at him, lust on her mind.

_Thank fuck for a distraction_ , Kirk thought. “Sorry, Bones. There’s only room for one on this ride.”

Kuznetsov let out a cackle. “Sorry, Doctor.”

  
  
  
The third time Sarah dropped her data padd, the screen cracked. She picked it up and stared at it, her brain murky. One of her enlisted asked if she was okay and brought over a chair for her. She sat, drained of all energy or the ability to think, her mind still gnawing on the Kennuck and the loss of her T’Kehr.

Dr. Tralnor was her favorite teacher when she was in high school. She built her class schedule in such a way that she was in as many of his courses as possible. Band, orchestra, jazz band, big band, she’d done them all. The additional Vulcan culture she learned from him was her inspiration for joining Starfleet. Six months at a busy hospital lab at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, she was feeling stymied and decided she wanted to learn more about other worlds and became a ninety-day wonder.

Her Teacher was there when she graduated from Officer Candidate School, waiting with her family to offer congratulations. She kept a photo taped to the inside of her locker, her standing with her parents, brothers, and Dr. Tralnor, a celebration cake on the table in front of them.

“I don’t know, Sir. I found her like this.” Sarah partially registered what was going on around her. Crewman Charles Abbey had retrieved Lt. Commander Miles Sylva, director of the medical microbiology lab and trained medic, to assess her.

“Lt. David, talk to me.” Sylva passed his hand in front of her face. “Can you tell me where you are?”

Had someone stuffed her ears with cotton wool? The edges of her vision grew fuzzy. She tried to look at her commanding officer and said, “Don’t feel good.”

She passed out and slid to the floor.


	88. Chapter 88

Veddah crouched beside Laura and took over building their cook fire. She had the kindling stacked like cordwood where a flame wouldn’t get enough circulating oxygen to keep burning. “Adun’a, have you ever been camping?”

“Once, with my Girl Scout troop when I was seven. We went to Montana to ride horsies. The camp we stayed at had cabins and plumbing and electricity. Not exactly roughing it.” She watched as he rearranged the bits of wood and dried foliage into a tent-like shape. “And most of what I know about fires is how to put them out aboard a starship or prevent them from starting in the first place. I’ve been connected to some arson attacks on Triophase Laboratories’ genetics labs, but I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

He believed her. As a celebrity and inspirational figure within the AVDL, he understood how the cult of personality embellished her so-called accomplishments. The crispy leaves and needles ignited and he fanned the flame so it would catch.

“But, I’ve got you to learn this stuff from.” She patted him on the thigh. “You’ve done the kahs’wan and Starfleet survival training, so I’ll be okay out here.”

“If you are not an arsonist—”

“This isn’t an exhaustive list, but here goes: rape, murder, assault, theft, forgery, terrorism, hacking, extortion, hate crimes, fraud, grand larceny, vandalism, kidnapping, false imprisonment, possessing stolen property, mayhem, torture, harassment, building explosives, intimidation, incitement, collusion, but I can go to my grave saying I’ve never deliberately started a fire.”

“That is—I am glad you did not commit arson.” _Not an exhaustive list_? He fed some more leaf litter into the embryonic flame.

“I’m not a necrophiliac either. So, that’s two sort-of okay things about me. You’re sure you want to be my Mister?”

Ignoring her question, he stood and faced the car. “At your Girl Scout Horsies Camp, were you taught to prepare food over an open flame?”

“The closest I’ve ever come to cooking anything is when I worked in my mother’s lab. I can do chemistry and maybe with some studying up, I could try my hand at baking. Baking is chemistry and that makes sense to me.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “And no, neither of my parents could cook. My dad didn’t because he was really bad at it. My mom, she didn’t give a shit, cooking would have taken away from her precious research and forced her to spend time with me in a familial context. She liked me far better as one of her employees, just another drone to be ordered around.”

Veddah came back from their vehicle with a crate and a cooler. “I will teach you what I know, though it is not much. Starfleet officers are not required to know more than the basics that will keep us alive in settings like this.”

“What about your parents, were they more domestically inclined than mine?” Her hand was immediately back on his thigh when he sat down again.

“I am the youngest of four children and we were raised by a mother and father who not only took interest in us as people but saw to it that we acquired the practical and social skills needed to function in our society.” He set a dutch oven on the ground next to the fire ring. “I also had my older siblings to mentor me.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was a good upbringing. I am their son, not an employee or colleague.” He pulled a couple of baking potatoes from the crate, punctured the skins with a small knife and set them in the dutch oven. “They have supported and guided me as parents should.”

“Are they proud of what you’ve achieved? I always got the feeling that Tatyana didn’t notice or care when I left home, that she doesn’t give a shit that I’m a pirate captain for the scum of the universe. I could have made a career of discovering cures for fatal diseases, she wouldn’t be bothered to acknowledge me.”

More fuel into the fire, it crackled as flames licked the larger chunks of wood. “Pride is an emotional response they would not engage in. My achievements reflect on the family’s honor and illustrate that they raised me in an upstanding manner.”

“I think they did a damned fine job, Veddah.” She gave him a light squeeze. “They made you into a good man.”

He put a dollop of coconut oil into the pot, covered it with the lid, and set the whole thing into the fire. “They would appreciate your compliment.”

“How will it go over with them that you’ve married an ace degenerate? I don’t want to ruin things between you and your parents. If they chose T’Danna for you, I think that you should follow their wishes. I’ve seen what goes into making these matches, for children and adults, and it’s not a task taken lightly. It’s a system that works well, for the most part.” She coughed at smoke drifting into her face as drafted by an errant breeze.

“I will explain to my family how I made my choice and why. They do not have to agree with me or my reasoning. They will have no recourse other than acceptance.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. They might be disappointed in you, but they’ll rightfully hate me.” She let him lean in and steal a kiss. His hot lips on hers left her wanting to crawl up under his clothes and snuggle in the warmth. The sun was going down and evening coolness moved in.

  
  
  
Sleeping bags zipped together, Veddah lay in the dark, Laura’s head on his shoulder, and listened to her sleep. For the first time since before the USS Seren went down, he gave some deep thought to his now-former fiancee. He remembered when he’d gotten the certified letter delivered to his Academy dorm room, his parents announcing they’d found him a new bondmate, his expansive relief made no sense to the guy he lived with. How could he be excited about marrying a stranger?

He met her for the first time two years ago at his graduation from Starfleet Academy. His and T’Danna’s parents were pleased they’d gotten their children seen to in such a way that there was some time for the two of them to get to know one another before their marriage became imperative.

An anatomy major, T’Danna had one more year to go on her undergraduate studies before enrolling in a physiotherapy graduate program. She was accepting of the demands his job placed on him, knowing they’d not see one another very often. She seemed level-headed and grateful that he’d agreed to their parents’ matchmaking attempts. She’d been rejected by her previous bondmate and his family when an emergency trip to the hospital for sudden acute abdominal pain revealed she suffered from a rare genetic disorder that caused ovarian necrosis. Unable to have children the natural way, she was dismissed, no consideration made for alternatives.

He tried to conjure her personality and after combing his memories, realizing that he barely knew anything about her. He’d moved through his engagement, a wish that their marriage would work out in the end always on the tip of his mind. Truly, one of the significant reasons he did not mourn the loss of his relationship with her was that he did not know her. What he’d observed of her in their few face-to-face meetings, T’Danna was unremarkable. She had no desire to travel, no want to leave her hometown and wasn’t interested in meeting new people. The officer he reported to during his cadet cruise would have described her as _beige_.

For T’Danna, marrying Veddah was just another bit of filial duty. It didn’t matter if she liked him or if he liked her. He was a checkbox on a list, a task to complete. That’s how his family saw her too.

Laura was right, his family would be disappointed in him.

“What’s wrong?” She asked groggily, lifting her head off him. “What hurts so bad?”

“Hurts?”

“I woke up because you’re experiencing a sharp psychological pain and it’s crossing over to me.” She lay her hand on the side of his face.

“I never intended to interrupt your sleep. I ask for forgiveness.” He squinted at the light cast by the battery-operated lantern she turned on.

“It’s okay. And if you don’t want to talk to me about it, that’s fine too. I’m the one who did this to you, so it’s my responsibility to—”

He cut her off and rearranged her so she was held across his chest. “T’Danna was marrying me because she had to. I could have been anyone. She was not interested in who or what I was other than my career and my family reflected well on her.”

“Veddah, that’s terrible.” She kissed his cheek and leaned her head against his.

“I think it would be different if we were bonded as children, but it was too late for any affection to develop between us. She did not want that and I was simply grateful to have found a wife before I encountered the madness of the Fever. We were a match of last resort.” He’d seen his parents’ marriage, a good one based on respect and genuine care, and the same for his brothers and sister. All thanks to a defective lynchpin on a piece of heavy equipment, he’d lost the girl he’d spent his life getting to know, and five years later was remaindered to T’Danna.

Laura hugged him. “I may be a monstrous piece of shit, but I am very fond of you. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

He opened up to her, letting her bathe him in the brilliant illumination of the acceptance and approval she had for him. She neutralized his trepidation about a marriage he no longer had to partake in. Veddah said, “Despite the terrible circumstances of our meeting and involvement, you have saved me too.”

  
  
  
Scotty’s eyes burned holes in the floor as he waited with Kirk and McCoy for Buffalo Bill Cody’s shuttle. Jim had tried to wish the engineer a good morning and got only a growl in response. Maybe it was best not to actually talk to the acting first officer.

“Feels like we’re killing time before facing the firing squad.” Bones muttered.

“ _It’s not your bloody fu_ —” Mr. Scott grunted.

“What’s that?” Kirk asked out of habit.

“Nothing, Sir.” He replied. “Nothing at all.”

“That’s a goddamned convoy.” McCoy pointed at the cluster of approaching craft. Two were from Wild West Show and three others were from Starbase 21.”

Scotty scuffed a boot sole against the deck. “That’s what they do. They pack in tons of equipment and personnel, shove everybody around, and if you’re lucky after they’re done destroying everything, there’s enough left to repair and you’ll get your ship back.”

Kirk focused on greeting Captain Cody. If he got too invested in Scotty’s complaints, he’d fall prey to his own misgivings and retreat into a haze of sex and alcohol. “Best behavior you two.”

The bay ran a pressurization cycle to equalize the space with the rest of the ship. Praxidike and Chaldene, Wild West Show’s shuttles, powered down first. Jim approached, not ready to turn over the keys to his ship, fully dreading the moment he’d relinquish his power.

Praxidike popped her hatch first. Still bitter from the shock of seeing Mollie come off that little ShuttleDirect job, he avoided directly looking at Billie as she disembarked. What he noticed were tall boots and a blue skirt.

“Captain Kirk, it’s good to see you again.” She held out a hand.

“Science blues, Billie?”

She turned and motioned for her people to start offloading. “As a courtesy to you, Jimmy. I’m still entitled to wear blue and this is still your ship.”

 _That’s nice of you to say, but we both know that’s bullshit_. Kirk was glad she couldn’t read his thoughts. “So, how do we do this properly?”

“Right now, my guys need to get our shit off 21’s rigs so the station can get those back. I need to check in with San Fran.” She caught Mr. Scott’s gaze and mouthed, _I’m sorry, Scotty_.

“Do I need to turn over my command codes? How formal does this get?” He watched her draw a breath to give an answer when a red-shirted Hoblian walked up to her and gave her a data padd.

“Captain James T. Kirk, this is my first officer, Lt. Commander Q’pik of the Triumphant Blue Sky Nest.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Sir.” Q’pik’s deep velvety voice was at odds with his lionfish-like head and muscular grizzly bearish body. Chameleon-skinned, with great flapping, membraneous ears, and a scalp topped with thick white filaments that reminded Jim of blood feathers, of all the aliens Kirk had encountered over the years, Hoblians were certainly unique in appearance.

“He’s also my chief engineer.” Buffalo Bill added.

“Speaking of chief engineers, you seem to know my second officer, Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott.”

“I previously served some short stints aboard Enterprise when Chris Pike was in charge, including my cadet cruise.” She nodded at Q’pik as he reiterated the importance of the data padd. “How about this, Scotty: when this is all over with, I’ll present you with a case of Pitlochry, and if I screw things up too bad, I’ll let you clobber me good for scratching the paint.”

“At least it’s you and not a stranger, Sir.” Scott responded to her in a way that suggested familiarity. “If I’d known it was you, I might not have taken the news so hard.”

A scathing stink-eye aimed right at Kirk, she said, “Don’t be so forgiving just yet. Captain, has my pilot arrived?”

“ _Your pilot_?” This immediately stung of a land-mine ready to blow him into kingdom come. “I thought all of your crew for this project was behind you.”

She shook her head and said to Q’pik, “ _Shit_. I knew this was going to happen, I just knew it. We’re on a strict departure schedule here. So, of course—”

“I shall contact C and C, Sir.” Q’pik swung off to place his call.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” _Might as well be courteous_ , Kirk decided.

Hand held in a give-me-a-moment pose, she called after her Hoblian. “What name are you having them run?”

“Legal, both with and without rank attached.” Q’pik appeared at her side.

“Let’s have them try under Navigator First Class TJ Cready.” She said.

“Yes, Sir.” He wandered off again.

Scotty made a high-pitched keening sound before he stepped up to Kirk, pale-faced and sweating. “ _You’re letting them bring Tara Jean Cready aboard the Enterprise_!”

“Mr. Scott—” Kirk thought the engineer was going to haul off and punch his teeth down his throat. “Stand down.”

“That woman is a Doom Bringer!” Scotty shouted. “Why _her_ , Captain Cody? Of all the talented helmsmen in Starfleet, Tara Jean Cready?”

“She’s worked with me on this project in the past. I need someone I’m familiar with who I trust with my life. She’s the only person for the job.” She folded her arms low over her belly. “Look, I didn’t choose now, I didn’t choose the Enterprise, and I didn’t choose to jump headlong back into an experiment that nearly blew up my ship and killed my crew. I’m here because the bosses put me here.”


	89. Chapter 89

Kirk escorted Billie to the bridge, leaving her people to deal with Advanced Aerospace’s equipment, and his crew was left dejected aboard their own ship. He kept repeating variations on _I did this for your own good_ inside his head with each disenfranchised Enterprise officer or crewman they encountered.

On the lift, finally away from angry onlookers, he asked, “What is deemed suitable for me to know about your experiment?”

“It is imperative that I find my pilot before I start spreading state secrets. Without her, we’re not going anywhere.” She picked a bit of debris off her opaque black tights.

“I’m more than happy to loan you Lt. Sulu. He can thread this ship through the eye of a needle.” He felt he needed a few of his people involved. That only seemed fair.

“I don’t doubt this Sulu is fantastic. I mean, he has to be if he works for you.” She plunged her hand down into her ample cleavage and pulled out a communicator. “I like to show off my legs sometimes, but the lack of pockets on these uniforms is a crime.”

He tried to nod along like he understood where she was coming from about this pilot of hers, but he was still so shell-shocked by the stipulations this arrangement came with, the importance of this Cready person couldn’t penetrate the haze.

Her first officer answered immediately to tell her he’d had no luck. She signed off and said, “Holy fucking balls, this is maddening.”

The lift opened, setting them down on the bridge. Kirk was uncharacteristically hesitant to take the center seat, his seat, so he stood by the railing and observed the full complement at their stations, save science. He’d not felt right going down the depth chart to fill in Spock’s place. Eyes on him from all directions, he bucked up and introduced Captain Cody.

Billie wished everyone a good morning and asked Uhura to open a channel to Starbase 21’s C and C. Multiple gazes followed Buffalo Bill as she stepped down into the sunken section of the bridge. Remaining on her feet, she talked to the duty officer over there. “I need you to check all civilian crew manifests, especially the independent freighters, that you’ve got coming in over the next forty-eight hours, for Navigator First Class Tara Jean Cready.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The ensign taking the call was worn out and not even halfway through his shift.

“ _Sir_.” Billie responded. “Yes, Sir.”

The kid blinked and bled confusion. “ _Ma’am_?”

“I’m a captain, a ship’s captain, I’m a Sir.” Billie grinned. “I’d hate for you to hack off someone like Captain April Tsung of the USS Sierra for not addressing her according to the old naval tradition. She’s got a bite that’s worse than her bark, and she’s in this sector before she pops off to Melbek III to do some hardcore geology.”

He repeated the name back to her and said he’d have results in under an hour. She turned to say something to Kirk when her boobs chirped. As she went digging for her communicator, she and Uhura smiled wide to one another.

“They say adding pockets will ruin the lines.” The communications officer said as she shook her head.

“The things we sacrifice for the sake of looking good.” Billie flipped the device open. “Cody.”

“When do you want us to deliver these crates up to the bridge?”

“Hold off until TJ gets here. Stage it for now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Device closed and returned to its special hiding place, Billie pointed to the auxiliary science station. “I’m going to run the show from up there, where I can see everything going on, and I’m not displacing your good captain. Kirk, if possible, I’d like you up here on the bridge with me as much as possible.”

What was her motivation for granting deference? He knew Billie, liked her a lot, hell, he’d even thought of asking if she wanted to get serious with him. He knew she wouldn’t deliberately rub his nose into the carpet, that wasn’t her style, but she’d heard enough through the grapevine about his recent fuck-ups that he was grateful she’d speak to him at all. That she was friendly set a chain reaction of doubt to topple inside his mind. “Nice of you to invite me to play your reindeer games.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” She smirked, mirroring the mischievous look he fed to everyone he could charm. “Admiral Nogura heavily suggested that I leave you on the dock and run this his way. I didn’t tell him to screw himself in so many words, but he knows this is my show.”

“How did Nogura respond?” Kirk’s palms went damp with the terror of losing his ship because a jealous has-been had it out for him.

“He told me you were nothing but trouble.”

“I bet he did.” Phantom panic stole nibbles of his confidence.

Hand on her hip, Billie gave one of those partial open-mouth half-smiles/half-teases. “And then I said, _That’s exactly the way I like you_.”

Kirk’s heart lightened and his expression became decidedly less grim.

“To quote the late, great Ensign Paulette Gordon: Time to cowboy up, baby. You better be ready for a helluva ride.” Billie reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “You know, it really is good to see you again, Jim.”

  
  
  
Sohja thought she’d best handled the boys by insisting that one of them be in the copilot’s seat at all times, even if she set the automated systems and meditated or took a nap. Then they started a lively debate over the computer, sending detailed treatises at one another, defending their stances, complete with citations. She had to lock them out of the system.

By day three of their trip, they’d started on a coordinated attempt to use her as a proxy. They’d swap out on their shifts, carefully explain their side of a given topic and the next switch began with an interrogation of what the other guy had said. She didn’t answer them, but she gave them points for trying to engage each other.

The next twelve hours were the last she had to suffer stuffed into No. 213 with the Ambassador and the Hollywood Producer. This stint, she was next to Sarek. Until recently, she’d not known him very well and only ever met with him a few of times at grand gatherings hosted at the Big House, plus the once for a handful of shots in _Celluloid Vokaya_.

“Why does Mr. Bergman disguise his intellect?” That unexpected question from Sarek caught her unawares.

“As to survive in his industry.” Sohja set the shuttle to auto so she could turn in her seat and see the person she was talking to. “He has told me that ‘ _smart people intimidate art people_ ’ on many occasions.”

“That sentiment is not logical. To throttle one’s intelligence for the sake of appearances reflects poorly on one’s character.”

“In my profession, I am witness to this behavior at a fairly constant rate. Individuals do what they must in order to survive in the herd mentality of their workplaces. Most of those same people also have extensive extra-career knowledge or experience of other fields via their hobbies and activities. For example, my immediate supervisor at Companies House is an accomplished mountain climber and impressionistic painter. My friend, a City of London financial executive, preforms his own genetic editing to create new varieties of hybrid roses for off-world climates. And Joe. . .” She resisted the urge to look into the passenger compartment and see what he was doing. “Joe is working part-time on his Ph.D. in history and anthropology. I believe he has two more years left to complete his dissertation.”

“What is the scope of Mr. Bergman’s research?” He was genuinely interested in what the odd movie guy could possibly be studying. “My wife would say that he holds his own in the discussions we have.”

“It is an interdisciplinary examination of the propagandization of both Jews in the World War Two era and Post-Contact Vulcans. He has wanted to know more about that for as long as I have known him. He told Tralnor and subsequently me that he had a sincere belief that the preservation and resurgence of the Jewish population was the direct result of Vulcans replacing Jews as the Other. The murders of our friends also spurred him on.” Now, she did glance behind the cockpit seating. Joe was wrapped up like a burrito, only his feet protruding from his blankets. “This Ph.D. is part of his attempt at explaining and understanding the supremacist ideology that took Jock and Amelie Grace from us.”

“Hence he is as well-versed in economics, history, and social issues as he is.”

She agreed and moved the conversation in a slightly different direction. “He has said that his mind has evened out since his meld with you. He claims to be fine, but Joe is a showman and buries his afflictions.”

Sarek wove his fingers together and placed his hands on his lap. “Vulcan will be the right place for him. He possesses the fortitude to complete the Lyr Saan studies. He wants the help. Therefore, my evaluation is that he is doing well in this interlude.”

“Very good, Sir.”

“He is in love with you, Sohja.”

“Yes, he is.” Her awareness of Joe’s sentiment was long known. “This has been true since we were undergraduates together.”

“He will wait his entire life for the most insignificant chance at an intimate relationship with you, to the detriment of any other suitable potential partner that presents themselves.” The Ambassador looked toward the sleeping human.

“There is no changing his mind, I have tried.” She said.

“It is not an infatuation.” He visually engaged Sohja again. “His affection is pure.”

“Our human friends say he is a stubborn man who cannot give up on the idealized version of a relationship with me that he carries around in his head. They do not understand when I defend him. He simply stands by his conviction that I am worth waiting for.” Joe didn’t harass her with a slew of unwanted advances. He tried to be the best friend possible but made sure to let slip sometimes how he felt about her.

“You will let him linger?”

“I have asked him to do one thing before I will remotely consider becoming more than a friend and he has not done it.” She repositioned to face forward and took control of the shuttle from the computer. “I have asked Tralnor to broach the subject with Joe. He has heard Tralnor out, but Joe refuses to comply with my request.”

“He would rather remain alone than be with anyone other than you.”

  
  
  
Kirk wandered around engineering, people avoiding his presence, scattering like cockroaches into the shadows. He’d wanted to see what Billie and company had concocted for this department. A veritable mountain of equipment, four or more palates, loomed ominously in a corner. He nearly stepped into conduit exchange module but stopped before he came to the attention of the two people tucked away in there.

“Sir, I must ask, what the hell are we doing here?” Lt. Commander Q’pik tried to speak quietly to his captain.

“You’d have to tease that answer out of our Advanced Aerospace overlords.” She sounded semi-defeated.

Q’pik’s ears shuttered, slapping the sides of his head with a sound Kirk could only compare to a fat slice of meat smacking against a counter. “Captain, we are being used.”

“I know we are, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Advanced Aerospace wants us here. I can’t begin to know the how or the why.”

“So we are supposed to ride this wave?” His brows moved horizontally toward his ears, an expression of doubt. “I am suspicious of Command’s motivations.”

“What would you want me to do? I tell them we’re bailing, I’ve sunk both our careers. We’ll never get Wild West Show back.”

Her first officer sighed. “So, we’re stuck on the Enterprise?”

“Like a barbed sharpatuke lodged in a humanoid’s urethra.” She spoke of a vicious little crustacean from Risa’s southernmost shores that once stuck in the urinary tract could only be excised through a very invasive surgical procedure.

“Then I offer a prayer to the Nest Builders that we make it out of this alive.”

“Say one for me too.” She touched his elbow and turned around.

Kirk had stepped back into the hustle of engineering and met Billie in the main thoroughfare. “Does she meet with your approval?”

“Yeah. Enterprise is tip-top. Perfect.” She didn’t offer a grin or any reassurance, a stoic pallor froze her features.

He returned the sentiment. “Great, that’s just great.”

  
  
  
Seated between the ex-girlfriend and his current squeeze, Jim was looking like less of a wreck than two days ago. Dr. McCoy gave a smattering of small talk and mostly watched his captain. Another disappointing dinner meant serious conversation started sooner than if the food was good.

He didn’t try to follow the conversation. It was mostly High-Starfleet Shiponeese, a language he was not fluent in. Three captains from three different types of ship, heavy cruiser, experimental science vessel, and patrol, talked like they’d known one another their entire lives.

“Bridge to Captain Cody.” The fun stalled out. “Comm pending from Merchant Vessel Simmer Down.”

“Someone punch the wall and tell them I’m on my way.” Buffalo Bill stood. Her science officer, whose name the doctor blanked on, keyed the wall comm and relayed her message. “It’s about damned time. Care to join me as I ask my pilot what she’s been up to for the last eleven hours?”

McCoy figured why not. He’d wanted to get an eyeful of this Cready person since Scotty started having a heart attack over her. “What kind of show should we expect, Captain Cody? Fireworks, hailstorm, drama?”

Kuznetsov coughed and shook her head, killing any could-be-construed-as-disrespectful laughter. “It is best if you see for yourself, Dr. McCoy.”


	90. Chapter 90

MV Simmer Down was a medium-sized independent freighter. It had a variable crew complement depending on the type of goods it hauled. On this leg, from earth to Starbase 21, it carried delicate hydroponic starter plants. Crew was diverted from other tasks to care for the new crops, and that meant they’d needed to take on a temporary bridge officer. Hiring straight from the notice boards, they snapped up TJ Cready the moment she presented the first mate with her CV.

Buffalo Bill let Lt. Commander Brompton nervously chatter on, trying to avoid having yet another high-ranking ship-based officer castigating him. C and C had lost the link to Simmer Down by the time all three captains and the doctor arrived on the bridge. He went on to describe the issues Cready’s ship faced while heading toward Starbase 21. Until a systems meltdown instigated by a cascade failure of both hardware and software, Simmer Down should have beat Captain Cody by at least a day.

“We’ve got her again, Sir.” Brompton told one of his staff to send the call.

“On screen, Sir?” Lt. Chris O’Dell asked from his seat at the communications board.

“Put her up there.” Buffalo Bill grasped her hands behind her back and stood with a posture that allowed her to breathe as freely as possible.

Connected, the viewer showed a ship recovering from chaos. Entire stations on the bridge were pulled out, resembling ultra-high-tech refrigerators moved to allow for cleaning. “Captain Jeff Balliol here, I understand you need to speak to my temp?”

“I do. It’s about one of her other part-time jobs.” Cody kept things light. Any captain who’d come through a catastrophe like this didn’t deserve haranguing from her.

“Hey, TJ.” Balliol went to a pair of legs sticking out from beneath a console and nudged one with the tip of his boot. “Starfleet is on the blower for you.”

“One moment, Jeff.” The voice, somewhat muffled by the computerized cave she’d crawled into, didn’t give any indication of irritation that she’d gotten caught out by someone from a stricter chain of command.

When the pilot, whose name set off tantrums down in engineering, extricated herself from her repair work, Enterprise’s bridge became tomb-like. “Captain Cody, Simmer Down’s communications were down until twenty-seven minutes ago. I did not intend to go incommunicado.”

“Why didn’t you fly your ticket, TJ?” Buffalo Bill asked.

“She looks like someone we know, don’t you think?” Kirk whispered to McCoy.

“Your next question will be why did I not deadhead to the station?” Grimy coveralls, a stained bandana tied around her head masking her hair color, face streaked with old lubricants, coolants, and coagulated dust, Cready didn’t look like the kind of person Starfleet would let aboard one of their ships. “Command should know by now to stop getting me seats, military or commercial. They are a waste of time and money. Unless someone sews my feet to the floor of a commercial cabin, I put my wings out for hire.”

Buffalo Bill didn’t seem too put out, just annoyed. “How long until you’re here?”

“Simmer Down should be arriving in five hours and nineteen minutes.” She pulled a shop rag from a pocket and tried to wipe residue from her face.

“I’ll see you in Enterprise’s main shuttle bay in five hours and forty minutes.” Buffalo Bill directed.

“Until then, Maeve.” TJ signed off and the screen went blank.

“Is there a reason your pilot seems so familiar?” Dr. McCoy wanted to put a different name to the woman on the other ship. “I can’t help but think I’ve met her before.”

“Not quite.” Cody said. “You know of her, but this will be your first encounter in person.”

Slightly suspicious, Kirk said, “Is Tara Jean her real name?”

“You’re getting warmer, but not quite there.”

“Not her real name then. . . _Oh, shit_ —” McCoy’s eyes lit up. “Oh. Shit.”

  
  
  
“This place must have been a real hellhole when it was up and running.” Laura pointed at another room set up in the style of dozens of others they’d encountered in various abandoned buildings at this particular settlement. Instruments of torture lay out on counters and hung from pegboards, waiting for a prison guard or professional interrogator to come along and inflict pain and humiliation on the inmates. Gurneys with spikes lining the insides of restraint cuffs, helmets she guessed were used for some form of electroshock, tools approximating gynecological implements, dunk tanks, sensory deprivation cells, the depravity knew no end.

She picked up a clear jar of what she thought were white stone chips. To a less knowledgable person, it might look like a collection of diminutive arrowheads. After a quick study, she knew they were the bones from hundreds of severed fingertips. “Anything that looks like our box?”

“Nothing.” Veddah checked drawers and cabinets.

“Next room.” She propelled her weary body out the door and up the hall to the following space. A simple office, it offered nothing. Two more rooms were empty, the only signs of use were the manacles still welded into the floors. In the final spot to check in this building, a dim blue light glowed on a workbench-height console.

Veddah held his lantern up. She brought him in closer so she could better see the labels and instructions on the board. Pointing at the word beneath the light, she said, “This says standby mode.”

“You are not wanting to power up this piece of equipment? I should not have to tell you that is a dangerous idea.” He’d not wanted to explore any of these buildings. The things they found disturbed him at a far deeper level than Laura. She knew how shitty people could be to one another and Veddah was still learning that lesson.

“Input. . . Recall. . . I think this says Storage Confirmation. Ancient Golic and the Administrator Script aren’t my strong point.” She brushed some dust off a cluster of buttons.

Until yesterday, Veddah hadn’t known the pre-Reform Golic bureaucracy had their own form of writing. The Administrator Script was invented to keep the common-folk from easily consuming government documents. “We need to exit this place.”

“How is there still a power supply to this device and nothing else in the entire town?” She crouched down to see if there was something as simple as a cord plugged into a wall when she recognized three crystalline memory chips. The data on those seldom corrupted and given what they’d come upon here, these chips might offer some kind of explanation. Laura pulled out the first two and secreted them into the bag she’d slung across her chest. She started to wiggle the third from its slot.

“Adun’a, you have set something off.”

She stood beside her husband as a holographic video began playing in the open space in front of them. The spoken language was not entirely decipherable, but neither of them needed words to know what was happening. It came off as a greatest hits list of the atrocities committed in that building. Pointless medical experiments, psychological mangling of prisoners’ minds, a gravid womb cut from a conscious inmate who was then forced to watch the vivisection of her fetus, gruesome sexual assaults, Laura responded, when the shock cleared enough for her to move, by dropping to the floor and wrestling the last chip out of the machine.

After the images had gone, Veddah barely remained upright. He dry heaved until Laura got her arms around him. She crossed the bond and gave him a mental shoulder to lean on like the physical one she offered to help get him out of the building and back into the car. They lay in the back seat, a blanket around them, her still embracing him.

“I prefer this part of history remain in the abstract.” He said once he’d gathered himself. “I have never sought the details. I did not want to know.”

“I took the data chips out of that console.” She brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Why?” He whispered and leaned into her a little harder.

“For you.” A kiss to his ear. “That information is leverage. I will threaten anyone who thinks they can take you down for what I’ve done with a leak of what’s on these chips. Vulcan doesn’t want this out there for common consumption and the Federation will do anything to keep Vulcan’s favor.”

He turned to face her, his emotion went straight to his face, displaying something like a blend of hurt and shock that shot through with confusion. “You do not need to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” She said. “The universe is a nasty place and I have to safeguard things for you as best I can. _I owe you_.”

  
  
  
Yet another trip to the shuttle bay, Kirk felt he needed to move his desk down there. It would save on time wasted walking back and forth. Scotty, Dr. McCoy, and Q’pik were joined by a couple of Billie’s crew as the next shuttle full of interlopers arrived.

“This should be fun.” Billie said, deadpan. “At least when we’re done, Lyudmila is waiting for you in your quarters. I get to call San Fran again, and if I’m lucky, I can sneak in a quick talk with my mom after. She’s going to blow her stack if she doesn’t hear from me before we go completely silent.”

“Billie, play nice.” The Kirk smirk cut loose.

“You wish.” She playfully punched his arm. “You know, after I’m done talking to mom, I might have to come knock on your door.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, what?”

“Kuznetsov extended the invitation a couple of days ago.” She let him have the side-eye and a naughty smile. “Of course, I had to tell her—”

“Tell her what?”

“I’ll see you both later tonight.”

Redness hit his cheeks. Blinking heavily, he ran his eyes along the floor and shifted on his feet.

“Jim, you okay?” McCoy sidled up to him.

“Right as rain, Bones.” He pulled himself up straight. “Right as f-ing rain.”

Another Starbase 21 shuttle entered and set down. Hatch open, a duffle flew out closely followed by a garment bag, both landing simultaneously about two meters from the cockpit. Blue jeans, old-style flight jacket with similar era captain’s bars on the collar, jet age, square-lensed Ray-bans hanging by an earpiece from her gold t-shirt collar, TJ Cready touched down aboard the Enterprise.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” Cready directed her question to Kirk.

“Permission granted, Captain—What do I call you?” He kept his hands to his sides. Was this the universe’s idea of a joke?

“No need to call me by my rank.” She stepped toward the line of officers and stopped in front of Kirk, but looked briefly at Mr. Scott. “In this capacity, I am a test pilot who has been kicking around for a while, not a part of the chain of command. In short, Starfleet pays me to break things.”

Scotty drew in a sharp breath and ground his teeth.

“TJ Cready is the identity she assumed when she first came to earth and needed to hide from someone who was trying to kill her.” Billie cocked her head to pop her neck. “She likes to break out her alias when she wants to work her way somewhere instead of sitting in the back with all the good girls and boys. I use her given name when addressing her because it would be just plain weird to call her Tralnor’s mom.”

  
  
  
The Minister of the Interior, Lincoln Portman’s slovenly table manners left him with drips and spatters of red on his chin and chest. He wasn’t eating a rare steak as much as he was trying to gag it down like a python choking on a pygmy goat. Tralnor had to leave the dinner, smacking lips not hiding bloody, masticated chunks of beef, to shield himself from the spectacle. He hid in the bar and ordered a vodka martini.

(Tralnor?) Spock arrived on the outskirts of his mind. (The dessert menu has arrived.)

(I’ll be right there. If he hocks a blob of chocolate lava cake in my face, I don’t have to worry that I might accidentally ingest some and have a reaction to it.) He returned to the table, two bottles of expensive wine tucked beneath his arm. “Please accept this as an apology, Minister. I took a call from the home office, an inventory situation with a computer subsystem had one of our middle managers flustered and he couldn’t get through to anyone else.”

“Oh, I understand that, Mr. Levner.” Minister Portman snapped his fingers at a member of staff. “Get this open for us.”

“Yes, Minister.” The waiter took a bottle.

“There are five of us at this table, so pop both of them. Add another two to my tab. I can put one of these down by my lonesome, easy.” He smiled, but in a manner that told the waiter he’d never work in Sandia again if the wine didn’t return quickly.

(What are we supposed to be getting from this guy, Mollie? I’d rather leave a record of our names with the Preservation Office than endure much more of this person.) Tralnor had no use for the esteemed bureaucrat. Everyone could see he was a disgusting jerk, but an involuntary empathic reading of the man gave the music teacher more than he wanted to know about the government worker.

The Minister leered at the women. Spock placed his hand over Mollie’s, displaying a masculine protectiveness out of character with the Vulcan way, but needed in their current context. She played to Spock’s act and scooted closer to him.

(This prime specimen of humanity will keep us anonymous if we promise him a big enough slice of the money from our company’s lucrative backcountry discoveries.) Mollie said to her brother. (But if he tries to touch me again under the table, Spock might break his fat sausage fingers.)

Alcohol and thick slices of dark chocolate and orange liqueur bundt cake arrived. Portman rubbed his hands together and licked his teeth. He started stuffing his face before everyone was served. A slurp of wine and he was on Sha’leyen’s case. “Now you, Miss Kay, you say you’re an archaeologist?”

“I am, Minister Portman.” (Disgusting pig.) Sha’leyen kept a pleasant expression. (And he can’t be bothered to get our names right.)

“How long have you been working in this field?” He pegged Sha’leyen as a non-human and was thus not as interested in her the way he wanted Mollie.

“Over a decade.”

“Then you know how to tell what artifacts are worth money from the garbage that’s only interesting to crusty old professors. Who knows, if you show some promise in bringing in the good stuff, I might have to make you a job offer you’d be insane to refuse.” He thought he was tempting her.

“You’d have to give me something extraordinary to get me away from my current occupation.” (Tralnor, Mollie, Spock, can we be done with this?) She took a bite of her cake. “That’s very good.”

“I can’t help but notice that you’re not eating your yummy cake.” The Minister challenged Spock. “Is it true chocolate makes you people come over all funny?”

Spock touched the rim of his plate. “ _What makes me come over all funny as you say, are people who think they can get away with touching my wife when she has not invited you to do so_.”

Not one for closing his mouth while chewing, Minister Portman nodded and coughed on some wine. “Forty-eight percent of the assay or appraisal value. I get twenty-six and Alex Pezig’s people get twenty-six percent.”

“That is agreeable.” Sha’leyen accepted for the group since it didn’t matter what Portman offered. All they wanted was discreet access to the backcountry.

“And, uh. . .” He dragged a napkin across his mouth. “I’ll let you have another thirteen, half of my share, for a tumble with you, Mrs. Vulcan.”

( _Stand down_!) Tralnor ordered the Kennuk. (Tell him no and collect our departure time for tomorrow.)

“I really need to get my beauty sleep tonight, Minister.” Mollie kept her cool. “I’m hoping we can get out of here early in the morning?”

“You gonna eat that cake?” Portman indicated with his fork. Spock pushed his plate over and the Minister started in. “Call me on my personal line right when you come out of the backcountry, so I can see what you’ve found first. As for when you leave? Whatever’s good for you, though shift exchange for the borderlands rangers is at 0730 should you think that’s important.”

(Spock. . . Dial it back.) Tralnor warned. (Not so much as one of your dry as a matchstick smarmy comments.)

(He is degrading Mollie.) The first officer wasn’t self-aware enough right then to see how he reacted to the Minister’s advances. (I am protecting my friend.)

(Is escalating to anger the proper response?)

(He is harassing—No, Tralnor. It is not a proper response.)

Tralnor must have asked Mollie for some backup because Spock calmed considerably.

(We’ll say the Wurz Zek-lar once we get upstairs and work you back into a level bearing. Truthfully, we all need that right now.) _The Order of the Stations_ was a common group meditation.

Tralnor, who didn’t get his dinner, quickly made his way through the cake. They couldn’t get upstairs fast enough.


	91. Chapter 91

He’d gone to sleep in a tangle of limbs, salacious curves braced against his sides. He woke up the next morning, memories of warmth, soft skin, and gratification fresh on his mind, but he was in bed on his own. Kuznetsov was gone, as expected because she always had to get back over to her own ship before Alpha shift started waking up for the day.

Kirk started to think about how he knew in his heart of hearts that he’d die alone someday. He took that better than waking up by himself. Death was in a far off future, but the sting of where he was right now hit him. Arranged in the blankets in such a way that told him one or both of the girls had tucked him in before they left, he savored the idea that someone sort-of cared.

Kicking his way out of the bedding, the shower started in his bathroom. It sent sunshine to his soul that he’d not been forgotten or shoved from others’ minds. Plus, it was easier for Billie to stay. She’d not picked up a cabin assignment yesterday.

Getting up and surveying his quarters, he collected dirty glasses and an empty bottle of grog that was compliments of the Wild West Show’s last stop at Forrestal. The place was strung with candy wrappers, boots, ladies’ underwear, condom wrappers because Billie was still—

Doorbell.

 _Shit_. He couldn’t let anyone see things looking like a frat house on a Sunday morning. Second ring. And he wasn’t wearing anything but his pretty face. _Shit_.

Maybe it was Bones. Tired and not giving much of a damn, Kirk took the gamble that Leonard McCoy was on the other side of that door and announced that whoever was out there needed to come in. “What have you got for me today?”

“I’ll come back later, Sir.” Mr. Scott blanched and scuttled away.

The captain sighed. “ _Son of a bitch_.”

  
  
  
When Kirk made it to the lift after shoveling a quick breakfast down his throat, he’d tricked himself into thinking this would be a normal morning. He’d sit down with his coffee and collect the news from the people around him. Quiet, calm, routine.

He stepped off into a construction zone. Open panels, dangling cords and cables, deck plates uprooted, the helm dissected, his eyes watered at the sight of T’Lal taking a pry-bar to the floor.

“Captain.” T’Lal, dressed today in a standard-issue gold tunic and black trousers, paused her mission of destruction. “Mr. Scott asked that I relay a message for you to let him know when you’re here. He has something he needs to show you.”

He couldn’t wrench his eyes away from the rank on her sleeve and the so-called ship patch on her chest. She’d been right yesterday. Her rank was simply a testament to her longevity as a test pilot and she wore insignia declaring she was only associated with aerospace research. She’d never served aboard a Starfleet ship as a regular member of a crew. “I’ll touch back with Scotty.”

T’Lal went over to a packing case, selected a piece of equipment, and told one of Wild West Show’s people to do a double check to see the power to a specific section was cut. “I was a teenager when I had to leave home. I needed to support myself, save up so I could study at university, and keep a low profile so my father did not find me and try to murder me again.”

“ _Your father_? _What_?” Kirk went to the helm.

“He is another story for another time, Captain.” She had Tralnor’s unreal green eyes, surely a signature from the geneticists who created the Lyr Saan as a quick way to differentiate their slaves from the people. “I chose an occupation where false identities and people on the run are rarely questioned. A quick training course and I was piloting tramp freighters while I was disguised as a human called Tara Jean Cready.”

“Your son mentioned that your day job is pharma research?”

“It is, yes. I entered the profession as a direct result of what I’d seen on the tramp freighters. I often piloted vessels that were smuggling medicines and supplies to the ToVan Worlds and Reichman System when they were suffering from an epidemic of Crane-Hodder Disease.” She started pulling up a module she’d swap out with the one Advanced Aerospace brought.

“Smuggling, huh?” Why did Vulcans seem to have the most fascinating secret lives?

“Smuggling.” Billie was suddenly there next to him. “And she’s nice enough to share with us the skills she picked up back then. Morning, all.”

“I need to step away and find my second-in-command.” Kirk tried for a graceful exit.

“Okay. I’ll try to give you some of the dirt on what we’re doing when you get back. Good luck, Jim.”

“Thanks, Billie.” There was something nagging in the back of his mind by the time he fired off his message to Scotty. He tried to write it off as some kind of continued reaction to the Enterprise’s take-over when it finally registered. This was day four without Spock.

He tackled the morning blotter, nothing of interest showed up except he saw a listing from Dr. McCoy saying that he still didn’t know why Sarah David was passed out in his sick bay. Captain Chaos struck again. People that Tralnor was close to were either the cause of Kirk’s problems or showing signs of deterioration somehow due to their relationship with the music teacher.

As Kirk pretended to read a service bulletin, Montgomery Scott arrived. “I’m sorry about earlier, Sir.”

“My fault, Scotty. I thought you were Bones and—Well, I’ve certainly learned a lesson about _ass_ uming who’s at the door.”

The first expression of geniality in days came from the engineer. “No comment, Sir.”

“What’s this that you’ve got to show me?”

Scotty set a data chit on the Captain’s desk. “Just some enlightening viewing about the she-devil Buffalo Bill has brought us.”

“She-devil? I’m not getting that impression.” Kirk could still hear the carrying on about Tara Jean Cready. “Plus, she’s a Vulcan, they only look the part.”

“Just take my word for it, Sir. She was not kidding last night when she said Starfleet pays her to break things. Enterprise has become her next victim.” Brows raised, not wanting to get mouthy and insubordinate, he said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

  
  
  
“Adun’a, is it what we saw on those chips yesterday?” Veddah had mixed heavy doses of cremora and sugar into her coffee and brought it to her. She’d not emerged from the tent and didn’t seem to have the motivation to start their day.

“She would have been big trouble, brought us down hard. She’s the only one of you I absolutely had to kill because she had something immediate to fight to the death for.” Laura didn’t take the cup. She stayed, knees drawn, sleeping bag wadded up around her. “And the more she carried on, the easier time I had with my decision to shoot her because I know the lengths I’d have gone to for my baby. . . _She was the genuine threat, not Franklin_. And we needed those diamonds to fund the cause. Plus, there were too many witnesses and Sweetness doesn’t have the capacity to tend to that many prisoners. . .”

Veddah sent a conscious tendril across the bond, offering understanding, not condoning, her actions on Melbek III. She bristled and tried to push him away. He persisted on the grounds that he took her as she was. “Please, let me—”

Sleeping bag pulled over her head so he couldn’t touch her, she left only her eyes uncovered. “I’ve had to decide on and do horrible things for the good of my ship and her crew. You were a casualty because—”

“You keep your promises.” He said, now seated cross-legged beside her.

“If I hadn’t kept my promises to Doc Hoskins or accepted his offer of a trade, Sweetness’ crew, and her prisoners, would have been entirely without medical care. First aid training for a handful of people doesn’t cut it on a ship that size. The night I raped you, an engineer’s mate had a stroke that Hoskins got on top of. That guy is fine now. The next morning, one of your people suffered chemical burns from upending a container of caustic cleaning fluid down their side, Hoskins handled that. Two days after, one of my boys down in cargo got pinned under a loaded anti-grav palate jack. Hundreds of kilos of diamonds crushed his legs. Hoskins saved his life. That man is quite possibly the most immoral and unprincipled person I’ve ever known, but sometimes you have to deal with the devil for the greater good of the people you’re responsible for. There just aren’t that many criminal medics.”

He’d understood what she’d done and the deeper motivation when she inadvertently pushed the information at him through the bond not long after they’d returned from Vitell’s Star. That didn’t mean he could forgive her or that she’d allow him to offer a modicum of sympathy to her for what she’d had to do.

“And somehow you can say that I’ve saved you. There are worse fates than a loveless marriage.”

“After being with you, I cannot face that. She does not want me.” Reminiscent of their early meetings sitting on the floor of his cell, they weren’t looking at one another. “However, you do.”

“So you don’t go back to T’Danna. You’re young and smart and handsome, it wouldn’t take much to find a new wife for you.” Laura didn’t push back like this to be heartless. It was for his own good that she encouraged him to sever his ties with her.

There was one other detail he wondered about. “You are not also deferring me because you want to avoid the ramifications of the Fever?”

She whipped the sleeping bag off her head, walked to him on her knees, and planted her hands on his shoulders. “ _Do not ever think that, Veddah_. I’m not scared of the Fever and you shouldn’t be either.”

Peering upward into her eyes, he took hold of her hips and drew her to him. “What makes you say that?”

“Tatyana’s boss, Lady T’Sel, the head of the genetics department, she pulled me aside one day. I think I’d just turned fourteen. She started talking about how to handle certain aspects of being married. I didn’t know why she was telling me how marriages were arranged and betrothal bonds were made. When she started on the details of the pon farr, I was at more of a loss. I asked why I needed to know these things and was informed that since I was to be married to a Vulcan that I needed to understand the implications.” Laura let Veddah rearrange their position, her straddling his lap. “At the time, I thought she was crazy. Now, I wonder if she was a Far Seer and preparing me for you?”

He liked it in the mornings when she didn’t have her breasts confined in a bra and he could touch her unimpeded, only a thin camisole covering her torso. “You are genuinely not afraid?”

“Not afraid.” She kissed his neck.

“Then I shall not be afraid because I will be with you.” He lay his cheek against hers. He saw freeze frames of the scenes haunting her thoughts. Lt. Commander Avila and the nameless woman prisoner from the holograms ground Laura down.

She decided to chase off some of her gloom by threading her arms under his and pulling him over on top of her. A nibble on his earlobe and her fingers dancing up the side of his face, he was done for. He whispered to her, “I have a wish.”

“Oh really?” She put both hands to work at getting him unbuttoned and loose from his underpants. After capturing another kiss, she let him have a smile. “What do you wish my sweet Adun?”

They concentrated for a moment on getting him inside her, maneuvering around clothing they weren’t taking off so this could remain a short encounter. “That in this, right now, I could give you the child you so vehemently desire.”

Proving once and for all that Laura Hillyard and the Golden Girl were not one and the same, she wrapped her legs around him and held tight, sending Veddah sunshine and voluminous gratitude. “I want that so bad I can’t make it into words. That you think I’m worthy of having your baby, stars above, what is there to say?”

“Say that you want me.” _Like you did the first time we made love_ , he thought.

“ _Aitlun du, Veddah, aitlun du_.”

  
  
  
Spock came to around 0100, aware but not aware of somewhere/something/someone. If he were human, he might try to play this off as a reaction to a long day followed by an overly tedious dinner with an awful man. He was not human and that meant there was a true cause for what pulled him from his sleep.

He knew it was not Mollie but looked to her peaceful form for reassurance on that point. His familiarity with her mind, sleeping or conscious, compared to the new one on the edges told him this wasn’t her doing. He slid a couple of fingers along her arm to get a whiff of what her brain was up to, that perhaps she was acting out a directive from a dream but she was not in that part of the sleep cycle yet.

Someone wanted his attention. Reaching out, he found Tralnor asleep and tracing the edges of the younger Vulcan’s mind, he found Sha’leyen in those fringes. She was not awake either. Then who? Was there another telepath in the hotel, one who was not properly trained to keep to themselves? Spock liked that explanation. It made good sense.

Disembodied words, almost a complete thought, formed in the communication centers of his brain. _Wish you were with. . . missing you. . . home_.

Struck by whiplash, the real source of this disturbance solidified, though there was no sensical, logical reason this was happening. Spock steepled his fingers and closed his eyes to the darkened hotel room. He had to meditate so he might shed the specter of Jim Kirk.


	92. Chapter 92

_The kid screamed_.

 _And screamed_.

 _And screamed_.

Captain Kirk winced as a two-year-old video called the _Miramar Weenie Roast Mk. XXIII_ played on his office terminal. Lt. Cade Anderton thought he was hot shit and going to be the best fighter pilot there ever was. The instructors at Miramar Station thought he needed to be taken down a few notches. If he stayed so full of himself, he’d go on to accidentally kill himself and take others down with him.

TJ Cready was known to do a favor or two for the instructors’ cadre when the need arose. The Weenie Roast started when now Commodore Marcus Castellucci was but a lowly Lt. Commander and couldn’t get through to one of his students. He called a buddy in Advanced Aerospace to see if they had any tricks up their sleeves. When Advanced Aerospace loaned him a freighter pilot, he was at a loss. What was someone who cut their teeth on tramp freighters going to show a cocky young so-and-so about flying?

 _And screamed some more_.

Jim skipped back toward the beginning and hit play when T’Lal entered the class’ briefing room. Dressed in the same thing she’d worn when she arrived last night, Commodore Castellucci told Lt. Anderton to follow Captain T’Lal to go visit the electrode fairies before suiting up and taking off as the Vulcan’s copilot. Anderton laughed until he realized Castellucci wasn't kidding around.

“Just because Captain Pointy Ears claims to be a test pilot doesn’t mean you’ve got to wire me up like a Christmas tree. I know what I’m doing out there, better than some of the old buzzards who claim they’re showing us new skills.” An arrogant grin spread across his perfect face. “I’m cool as ice up there, just so you know.”

Anderton had to capitulate when the Commodore ordered that he submit to the medical monitoring equipment. Fixed up and dressed, he followed T’Lal out onto the tarmac. “Castellucci, Captain Harvey, and Captain Poole, what do you have on them that puts you right here, right now? Shouldn’t you be in a science lab somewhere?”

Kirk had known many guys like this Anderton. Almost none of them were still alive to brag about their exploits. And though he’d seen this part once before, he still wanted T’Lal to break with her chill demeanor and smack this little peckerhead right across the face.

“Hey, TJ!” A member of the ground crew called out. “If I’d have known it was Weenie Roast, I’d have worn my flower necklace and brought a bag of marshmallows!”

She waved at the Chief Petty Officer and stayed far enough back from the craft she’d be taking out that the crane lowering her canopy into place could work unimpeded. T’Lal unhooked her sunglasses and put them on.

Anderton, heard counting, then said, “What are those symbols stenciled under your name? You told us you didn’t fly missions for Starfleet.”

“That is the tally of my confirmed kills.” Kirk could tell the markings were Vulcan. He had no idea what they translated to and Lt. Cock-of-the-Walk didn’t have a clue.

“Confirmed kills? You don’t fly combat missions. You just said.” Anderton was so convinced he was right that he rolled his eyes.

“I do not fly missions for Starfleet.” She reiterated.

“Then who are you going all Red Baron for?”

“The Vulcan Diplomatic Corps. I am brought in for tricky operations and earned most of those marks for my work in hostile extractions and personnel swoops. I only deploy in the most dire of situations.” Kirk stabbed at the stop button. This statement was a bad omen. Why did Billie need a smuggler with good aim at the helm of the Enterprise?

Video restarted, Anderton’s face finally betrayed something less than braggartly superiority. He followed her up into the little bird that had her name and call-sign on it. Capt. T’Lal “Tara Jean” Ah’delevna got into her seat and immediately began on a systems check. Anderton only sat when he was shoved down so an enlisted man could mount the camera on the bulkhead behind them.

“I was told in one of my xenoanth classes at the Academy that Vulcans don’t need sunglasses because you’ve got three eyelids.”

“That is correct, Lt. Anderton. I do not _need_ them.” She didn’t break her concentration on the task she was working on. “I wear them because they make me look cool.”

Unsure of what to make of that comment, Anderton slipped his helmet on. “You wear Ray-bans to look the part, but you’ve got non-regulation headgear. Another attempt at smug indifference?”

Kirk could not believe this kid. Once he was done watching the whole thing, he’d look this Anderton up to see if he was still in Starfleet. An attitude like that and the young lieutenant could only be so lucky as to have a tramp freighter take him on.

“Mine is a retrofitted piece of kit from Vulcan. I cannot wear the standard-issue helmets. To use the scientific description of my problem, I needed something to accommodate my big honking ears.” She put hers on and plugged into the craft.

Anderton balked.

“It was a joke, a humorous way to offer an explanation for a mundane complication that I face.” She needed him engaged not checked out. Her attempt at granting the dreams of billions of humans, of showing that Vulcans did indeed have a sense of humor, even if delivered deadpan, was lost on Anderton. “Cross-check.”

He’d decided now that he didn’t like this one single bit and glowered, staring out the cockpit windscreen. “Lt. Anderton, cross-check so we can taxi.”

Snapped from his state of disbelief, he did as ordered and they were underway sooner than he would have liked. He got one more brilliant notion to try and get under T’Lal’s skin. “So, you’re a test pilot for us and a Top Gun for Vulcan, I’ve just got to ask, how’d you get your start because this is a strange job for someone who’s from a species that thrives on logic.”

“The short explanation is that I have a single professional licensure that I’ve subsequently added ratings and certifications to over the years. It was never my intention to become a test pilot or fly combat missions. When I began, I simply needed a job so I could support myself.”

“So, what’s your license? I’m a fighter all the way. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“I am a fully bonded member of the Sol Sector Freight Haulers Association.”

“Freight Haulers!” Anderton shrieked. “If you’re just an over-glorified truck driver in space, what the hell am I doing in here with you?”

“I was recruited by Advanced Aerospace Research and Design when I became the only known survivor of a Klybold Well.” The outer space equivalent of a sheering microburst on a terrestrial aircraft, Klybold Wells were poorly studied phenomena until the last half-century or so. “All nine of my human crewmates on MV Lenore Vermont were killed when it hit the ship. I was on the helm and managed to pull the ship through before it was completely destroyed.”

“That’s impossible.” Anderton would come right out and accuse a superior officer of lying through her teeth, he had that much sense.

“I made it because Vulcans are physically and mentally fitter and more robust than humans. To get more specific, I made it because of the particular genetic variation of Vulcan that I am. The people of my Clan were designed to be very hard to kill through shock means like the stresses encountered in a Klybold Well.” She exchanged a few lines with the control tower. Two seconds passed and Frank Sinatra’s _Fly Me to the Moon_ started to play in the background, joined by laughter from multiple people on the ground and up in the tower.

Anderton’s eyes grew bigger. “ _What the hell_?”

“Because of my high tolerances, beyond those of even most members of my species, I report to Advanced Aerospace approximately three times a year so they can see just how far their new toys can be pushed by an organic at the controls.”

“That’s insane.” He said.

“I have since participated in a great deal of research on Klybold Wells which developed the new safety protocols for navigating them. I’ve been through eight of them as of last year. The mortality rate for those ships that get caught in them has dropped by forty-three percent in the last two decades.”

“You’re insane. How is throwing yourself into a Klybold Well any kind of logical.”

She looked at him. “I do this so people like you are more likely to survive when something goes wrong up there. Is it not logical to complete testing schemes that save lives?”

Finally out of steam, the kid harrumphed. He didn’t open his mouth again until the screaming began.

  
  
  
“Last night, you called me your wife. Why?” Mollie asked as she rooted through her toiletry bag for something.

“I thought it necessary.” He continued getting dressed for their day in the great outdoors.

“Necessary, Spock?” What was she doing? There was no reason to push the issue. “I’m only checking because I need to be sure.”

Why had he said that? He could have verbally defended her in other ways, telling Minister Portman that Mollie was a friend/girlfriend/coworker/work supervisor. _Wife_. He used the word wife. “Portman was harassing you.”

“Your father is desperate to make the betrothal announcement.” She said as a caution. “Do I let Livia know so she can give him the go-ahead?”

Spock, still dealing with the effects of the somnambulant visitation from Jim Kirk, was at a loss. Did he say it as wishful thinking? Was it a slip of the tongue?

“I’m worried about you.” She left her items by the sink and sat them both down on the bed.

With her, he would always be safe, always be loved, always not quite what she wanted. Then, Jim’s interstellar whisper incited a flame inside him, fire as a destructive force, fire as a powerful longing. What did he want? Stability or venturesome abandon? How did one choose one kind of love over another? “When Portman heard you were my spouse, he backed off.”

But Portman hadn’t backed off.

Spock had come up with the most inflammatory response that allowed him to remain civil. If Mollie hadn’t mentally interjected, he’d have further caved to his emotions and given Portman the show he was needling for. “Do not worry for me, Mollie. Should we find ourselves in a similar situation in the future, I shall select my words more carefully.”

  
  
  
“In the bag, Anderton!” T’Lal hollered at the barfing lieutenant.

Following direction from Commodore Castellucci and Captain Poole, she ran the kid through a course that was part paint can shaker, part tilt-a-whirl, and all loop-de-loop rollercoaster. Captain Harvey had to step back from the mic because he doubled over laughing where he was drowning out the exchanges between the ground and this teaching exercise.

Kirk could not taper his enjoyment at seeing Anderton eat a heaping pile of crow. Castellucci had T’Lal take the screaming kid to the edge of what humans could endure before passing out when he called her back for a tower fly-by.

From the cockpit, the camera captured a flood of people running onto a designated area of the tarmac. As they closed in, Kirk saw banners and signs proclaiming things like “ _Get Your Red Hots Here_!” and “ _Burn, Baby Burn_!” Some even waved frankfurters speared on skewers.

On the ground, while Anderton tried to skulk away, Castellucci grabbed hold of him. “Welcome back, son. Remember this day because what you felt up there is what it's like for all of us when you’re being a fat-headed, showboating hot dog. Keep your head out of your ass or next time your weenie will get roasted for real and there won’t be enough of you left to box up and send home to your momma.”

Weak, Anderton said, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now get the hell out of here and hit the showers. You smell like puke and that’s not becoming of a Starfleet officer.”

Weenie Roast over, Kirk planted his elbows on the desk and leaned into his hands. As entertaining as that video was, he accepted it as a dark portent of near-future events.

  
  
  
Kirk emerged from his office and didn’t want to return to the bridge. It hurt to see his silver lady pulled apart and rewired for this trial. The reports coming up from engineering had the captain a micrometer away from sending McCoy to force-feed a handful of tranquilizers down Scotty’s gullet. Holding his breath against the jarring site of his workplace torn apart, he wasn’t the slightest bit happy when he heard Billie having nearly the same conversation with Lt. Commander Brompton as he had the day Mollie showed up.

“ _A Presidential Decree_?” Incensed, Billie demanded a rational explanation for this shit. “This is the first I’ve heard about any decree.”

Kirk shouted inside his head: _This is getting ridiculous_!

“I can’t give you any more, Sir. That’s all we know.” Brompton, who’d liked Billie yesterday when she’d not torn him a new one over losing contact with T’Lal’s ship, clenched his jaw and braced for the storm.

“Can you describe the vehicle that is joining us?” T’Lal pulled herself up from a crawlspace that ran from the helm to the main security station on the bridge.

“I can.” Brompton made a hand gesture to one of his subordinates who sent the specs to his board. “It’s a Gulfstream S2090ER. Registration N-213SD, and it’s from the ShuttleDirect fleet.”

“They are just in time.” T’Lal said.

Kirk jammed his foot into the exchange. “Who are _they_?”

“And what are _they_ on time for?” Billie asked.

T’Lal walked between them, stepped into the lift, and started toward the shuttle bay.

“Jimmy, neither one of us is going to like this. T’Lal is a bit of a spook because she’s connected to some of the highest government officials on her world.” Next lift car ready for passengers, Kirk and Billie set off and she continued to talk about Tralnor’s mother. “I don’t know any of the particulars, but from the crumbs I’ve put together, she does some really nasty _pro re nata_ jobs for the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps.”

“I’ve already had a scrape with a Vulcan diplomat this week. Once is enough, thank you.” He tried to think of what T’Lal had for them and his imagination was dry. This glut of incredible and unbelievable events had gone on so long now, a clown car might be waiting for them instead of a shuttle and he might not bat an eye when fifty clowns came pouring out.

“Yeah? Who was it? Wild West Show gets more than its fair share of those of the diplomatic persuasion. We drag people from place to place while testing out the new bells and whistles. So, I probably know who they are, especially if they’re Vulcan. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a run-in with Sajak, Ambassador Sarek’s long-suffering executive attache.”

“Oh, you know this one.” Released onto the deck that housed the shuttle bay, they trudged along.

“And?”

“I had a lot of harsh words for Diplomatic Envoy Mallia Ah’delvna.”

Hand on his chest, Billie stopped them cold. “You went after Mollie? What on earth for?”

“It was—” They didn’t have the time and this was not the place to break down his confrontation with Spock’s so-called friend. “It was a stupid fuck up.”

She took the hint and quit probing for details. They walked into a familiar scene that played out with alarming regularity in recent days. Kirk decided to not ask T’Lal about the person or persons on this latest shuttle.

“I thought you said you had all of your people here, Billie.”

“Whoever she’s got in there, they’re not mine.”

This version of ShuttleDirect’s luxury rental was humble compared to the souped-up thing Spock had taken off on. No guns, no reinforced hull, it was just a shuttle.

 _I don’t know how much more of this I can take_ , Kirk thought.

“Sohja, what are you doing here?” Billie’s look of surprise caught Kirk’s attention.

The elegant Vulcan paused to gaze at Billie, her greenish-hazel eyes questioning the captain of the Wild West Show. “I must ask you the same, Buffalo Bill.”


	93. Chapter 93

“Joe! What the fuck?” Billie’s jaw practically unhinged. “Shouldn’t you be, like, any place in the universe that’s not fucking right here right now?”

Bergman loped off the shuttle, shrugging his flower-clad shoulders. “I’m happy to see you too, Captain Bill.”

“I mean it, Joe. Are you even supposed to be away from the Big House right now? You’re not too, I don’t know, under the weather?”

Fifty clowns would not have stunned Jim Kirk right then, but Joe Bergman? This was not a possibility he’d ever have accounted for. Buffalo Bill’s transformation from Starfleet captain to a friend deeply concerned for another friend, gave a glimpse into the close relationship between her and the producer.

“Well, I kind of can’t go anywhere these days without my ball and chain.” Joe pointed to the person behind him. “And if he wants to go chasing after a starship while I’m relying on him to keep my head stitched together, I’m pretty much obligated to follow.”

Sohja said, “Taking Joe’s condition into consideration, he is doing well.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Soazh.” He held his arms out and collected a hug from Billie.

“My name is Sohja.”

“That’s right, Henny-Penny. _Her name is Sohja_.” Billie teased and let go to turn her attention to the third person on the shuttle. “Good day, Sir.”

Kirk’s guts rumbled at the vision of Ambassador Sarek setting foot aboard the Enterprise again. This time was worse than the last. The diplomat carried three identical padded folios to the ones Mollie had brought. Now was the moment to accept that it was time to cinch down and try to hold on for the full eight-second ride.

“It goes to Captain Cody.” T’Lal indicated to Sarek. “But, before we discuss what is outlined in those documents, the Ambassador and Mr. Bergman must call on your physician.”

  
  
  
Following behind T’Lal and the newcomers by a couple of meters, Kirk and Cody talked, not bothering to lower their voices. The three Vulcans ahead of them would hear every word they had to say regardless of the volume they spoke at.

“If you’re bamboozled, how do you think I feel, Jimmy?”

“This is an almost exact repeat of what Mollie did. Only this time, I can’t think of any members of my crew this bunch wants to steal away for some clandestine op.” She wrinkled her face at that comment. He went on, “Hey, you’re the one who said your pilot was a part-time spook.”

Kirk thought of Lt. Commander Q’pik’s comment that the Wild West Show’s crew was being used. Somewhere, sinister planets had aligned and three disparate causes were smashed together like atoms, the reaction playing out with real people and real lives caught in the shock waves.

“What did the decree you were served with say?”

“Not much. Mollie came to kidnap my first officer. I didn’t get a why, just that President Cullen and T’Pau’s dictions superseded mine. She also added Dr. Tralnor and my head bioarchaeologist to her team, they spent two days loading up a shuttle and took off for parts unknown. Even arguing to the brass that I needed Spock was summarily dismissed.”

Setting a hand on his forearm, Billie slowed them down. “ _Oh, shit_.”

“Now what’s wrong?” Kirk thought about finding a nice bucket of sand he might stuff his head into, thus avoiding the rest of this current misadventure.

She smirked and shook her head. “You think Mollie and Spock are an item. That’s hilarious.”

“Huh?”

“Wow, you’ve fallen hard, Jimmy. Our first officers are important, we can’t run our ships without them, but you with yours? An interstellar romance of Shakespearian proportions?” Her face softened. “Discounting _Romeo and Juliet_ , of course.”

“What makes you say any of that, Billie? I just really need him back.” His heart wasn’t in denying her claims, but he didn’t want to reinforce them either.

She got them moving faster again. “Look, Mollie is not going to steal Spock from you.”

“Don’t tell me they’re just friends. It’s a hell of a lot more than that.”

“Okay, I can see you’re not getting it.” Caught up with the rest of the group, she said, “You’re being too emotionally reactive to their relationship. To us, to humans, when we’re sleeping with someone, especially long-term, our hearts can get pretty wrapped up in it and that colors our perception and comprehension of the meaning of other people’s relationships.”

“Are you trying to shrink my head, Billie?” Kirk’s discomfort grew.

“Not at all, you know I’m not into the whole clinical psych thing.”

“So, I’m too human for Spock?”

“What I’m saying is that Mollie and Spock have a very Vulcan, non-marital, sexually intimate relationship. Intercourse is an aromantic expression of solidarity between friends. Kinda like what we did last night.” She tried to tamp down his fears. At least she wasn’t yelling at him about it like McCoy. The doctor had been pissy to him since he’d confronted Mollie. “You look like you’ve heard this all before.”

“I have. I keep asking because I’m scared the real answer is different than what I keep hearing.”

  
  
  
Dr. McCoy was discharging a patient when the party of six showed up and he nearly shit himself upon clapping eyes on Sohja in the flesh. He’d never encountered the like. The naughty boy still inside him hoped she was the one who required a little medical attention. _Gods above_ , he thought. _I hope you’re single_.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” McCoy regarded the new visitors. “Jim, a word.”

Set away from the crowd, but not sealed in an office, Kirk didn’t let him fire a question off. “ _I don’t know, Bones_.”

“But what about—”

“Billie doesn’t know either. It’s nothing to do with the Advanced Aerospace testing.” Jim was too onslaughted by events to show if he was mad.

“Vulcans, man.” McCoy couldn’t give the feeling overcoming him a name. “They are the shadiest sons-of-bitches this side of the Milky Way.”

“Of that, we are in agreement. T’Lal wants you to take a look-see at Sarek and Bergman.”

“Not Sohja?” The doctor feigned disappointment. “If what Spock says is true, I want in on some of that.”

“Bones, I’d say you were being a lech, but damn.” Jim motioned for them to return to Bedlam. “Good luck, with that.”

Out in the main bay, McCoy cleared his head enough to visually assess all of the Enterprise’s new guests, not just leer at Sohja. But, he wound up staring anyway. When Tralnor had said he and Spock were related, the doctor was of the idea that they were fifth or sixth cousins a dozen and a half times removed. Seeing T’Lal and Sarek side-by-side, he knew he had to revise that notion.

“Our grandfathers were brothers, Dr. McCoy.” T’Lal said, before he had the chance to ask anything.

“But you’re not technically related. I got the story from your boy, Captain Ah’delvna.” The doctor pointed to the nearest bio bed. “We’ll get you here, Bergman. Ambassador, if you’ll follow me.”

In less than an hour, McCoy was warning Sarek to avoid taxing his heart and asking why he’d come out to the Enterprise when he needed to be in bed under the close care of a Healer. Did the ship’s surgeon get an acceptable answer? Not at all. Deciding not to lean on the issue, he and the Ambassador went back to Joe.

The USC grads were consumed with conversation about their team’s spring scrimmage and what the fall season was looking like. Never interested in sportsball, McCoy thought they could have been blabbing in Esperanto for all the sense they made. He keyed up Bergman’s quick scan results and was disconcerted.

“Hyper-elevated stress hormones, chronic dehydration, sleep deprivation, vitamin deficiencies, neurotransmitter imbalance, if you don’t mind me saying, you’re a mess.” He started orders for medications to help level him out some.

“Don’t know how to tell you this, Doc, but I’m always a mess.” Joe snickered and took a little, good-natured jab at McCoy. “I’m sure Sohja can tell you all about it.”

“The neurological symptoms are what we are interested in. Other issues are not unexpected given the strain he has been under for many years.” T’Lal said. “Specifically, I need to know the state of his right parahippocampal gyrus in comparison to his left inferior frontal gyrus.”

“Let me go grab the right piece of equipment to give you that answer.” When he returned with the Functional Encephalitic Monitor, Jim was standing off to the side of a multiparty conversation where everyone else was speaking Modern Golic.

Buffalo Bill was the most excited of them and turned to McCoy. “This could be juicy. If Joe’s left brain is activated by psionic contact, that’s not so unusual, and as you know Dr. McCoy, that’s pretty standard for us humans. But if that right parahippocampal gyrus lights up, we’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”

“This is all Greek to me.” Kirk said. “What’s the significance?”

“It could be that Henny-Penny’s broken mind is the partial result of a structural pseudo-defect in his brain and not entirely tied to trauma.” Captain Cody explained as simply as she could.

“Have you been evaluated for psi abilities, Mr. Bergman?” McCoy got out a set of electrodes and started sticking them to Joe’s head.

“Yeah, I have. No go.” He lifted up the shaggy California sun-bleached blond on the back of his neck. “I’m just not one of those humans, which is fine. I’ve got enough shit wrong with my head.”

“When you are better stabilized, you will be re-evaluated.” Sarek laid down the law.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sir.” Joe defended his standing and pointed at himself. “This guy right here is a psi-null.”

Sarek didn’t say anything but was not in any agreement with Joe’s self-assessment.

“Dr. McCoy, when you get done setting the baseline, I am going to send a series of five telepathic images to Mr. Bergman. Then, I will need you to reestablish the baseline so I might send the same number of images to Sarek. I will also repeat the exercise with Sohja.” T’Lal asked Joe if he was ready to begin.

“Not really, but I don’t think I’ve got much of a say.” The last electrode placed on Joe’s head, McCoy powered the machine up.

It didn’t take long to get the control pattern recorded. Bergman got the first two images and said what they were: traffic cones and a bookshelf. The doctor wasn’t expecting to see anything abnormal. He was more fascinated by T’Lal’s ability to send information without needing to touch the receiver.

Joe’s response went off the rails at number three. He physically recoiled at what he saw. “ _No. That’s not_ —”

Number four, a basket of kittens, calmed him a bit. Five, whatever it was, had Joe looking bleak. He didn’t say anything, rather he sat there, overwhelmed. The next set, because he was mentally linked with Sarek, brought the results McCoy thought he’d see. When T’Lal sent images to Sohja, there on the readout, plain as day, was something he’d never seen a non-psionic human brain do. Joe was semi-consciously reaching out directly to Sohja.

“Your friend here has an overdeveloped hippocampic reflex with an emphasis on the right firing in reaction to psionic stimuli. His cuneus lit up like a supernova when you showed the emotional shots he wouldn’t describe. No indication of any organic parahippocampic deficit, anatomical or neurochemical.” McCoy set up the machine to send the results to his desktop terminal. “I can get you a computer-generated report by the end of the hour. Did you get what you needed?”

“We did, yes.” T’Lal looked Joe up and down. “You may get up, Mr. Bergman.”

Peeling electrodes off his head, Joe thanked McCoy and set his sights on Sarek. “I guess I’m going to make it for the next day or so. What about you, Ambassador? You’re not going to go tits up on me all of the sudden, are you?”

Sarek glowered at Joe, ratcheting up the tension in the room. “My heart is only an issue if we make it one.”

“Don’t forget, I’ve got your missus on speed dial.” Joe dared shake a finger at one of the most intimidating people McCoy ever had the displeasure of crossing paths with.

Summarily ignored, Joe slid off the bed. “What next? Is it show-and-tell time? I’ve got to know what’s in those folios.”

“You’re not the only one.” Kirk broke his long silence. “We’ll get set up in the adjacent conference room here and get this over with.”

People nodded in agreement and began on the process of moseying next door when T’Lal stopped. “There is someone here I need to evaluate.”

McCoy called after the pilot. She walked into the inner layers of sick bay like she’d worked there for years. Christine popped her head out of the office her work was confined to, her face showing what McCoy felt. The nurse tried to say something and huffed when he had to wave her off.

T’Lal stopped at the foot of an occupied bed. “I see my son left a message for me.”

The room filled, people crowded around a comatose Lt. Sarah David.


	94. Chapter 94

She’d asked for a pad of paper and something to write with, which Kirk found a wee bit odd. Insisting that a data padd and stylus were ineffective for what she needed, McCoy opened drawers and cupboards seeking out the right office supplies so T’Lal could record the data she’d just lifted from Sarah David’s brain.

T’Lal said Tralnor had left a yemtra vokaya in Lt. David’s head. Knowing from all those evenings in Rec Room 2 that vokaya was a word for memory, Jim deduced that the music teacher gave Sarah a ream of intelligence when he shook her hand there in the shuttle bay.

“Paper.” Bones, from his squat in front of a cupboard that served as his realm’s kitchen junk drawer, handed up a writing tablet. Not three-seconds later, he rose to his full height and held up a box of pencils.

Billie herded the newcomers off to the conference room while Kirk and the doctor lingered behind. “You know, Jim, I didn’t think it was possible for this to get any weirder and here we are.”

“Is Lt. David going to be okay?” Kirk’s nerves crawled with the lingering memory of T’Lal’s hand on Sarah’s face and the young girl gasping and gurgling whilst the Vulcan disadhered and removed a block of planted information from her mind.

“It’s going to take another couple of hours or so for her to regain consciousness, but she should be fine. One less crisis for us to worry about. While I’ve got you here and the issue is on the top of my head, I’m going to be putting in a transfer request.”

“ _What_? You can’t transfer. Not now. Call me selfish, but I won’t let you go, Bones. I need you here. Full stop.” Close to thumping the center of his chest to get his heart beating normally again, the captain reached out and held onto a wall.

“It’s not for me.” When the doctor took on this dreadful sincerity, there were always storm clouds ahead.

“Don’t try to make me faint like that.”

“We have to get Christine out of here. I turned her in, to Tamsin Rhoades, the director of the Starfleet Nursing Board. Dr. Rhoades has her restricted to admin work only right now, pending evaluation of her psycho-social ability to do her job.” McCoy’s hands balled up. “This department, this ship, we can’t wait on the Board’s decision. She’s incapable of acting in an unbiased manner in her treatment of certain patients, namely our resident Vulcans and the significant others they’re attached to.”

“Damn. I didn’t know it had gotten that bad.”

“Now, I know you and Spock aren’t officially together, but Chris came completely unhinged at Sha’leyen and Mollie because of the men in their beds. I doubt she’d ever be a real danger to you, Jim, but I want her out of here just the same.” The doctor’s expressive blue eyes showed something rare, distrust in a member of the Enterprise’s crew.

Jim ground his molars. “Fine, we’ll get her taken care of, but we’ll have to drag her around with us until the Advanced Aerospace test is over. If Nurse Chapel is that compromised, we don’t want her filing a complaint saying that I moved her off the ship when Buffalo Bill Cody is technically in charge.”

“I was hoping for sooner, but you’re right, we can’t give her any edge. I’ll keep her in the office until then.”

Kirk thought he heard someone in the background quickly walking away. Unsure if it was Christine Chapel upset over what she’d picked up eavesdropping or any number of sick bay staff, he chose not to worry about it.

  
  
  
T’Lal told the others to go over the information in the folios while she continued to write. Sohja recognized that the older woman was transcribing a cypher but had no idea what it said.

Buffalo Bill started the meeting with the briefest outline of what she and her people were up to. Sarek nodded at a couple of appropriate moments, an indication to Sohja that he knew exactly what Wild West Show was up to when it nearly broke up. Having no interest in this research and design project, she was fine not getting the details. Those gaps only served to further antagonize James Kirk.

The physician, Leonard McCoy, had not stopped staring at her, open-mouthed, blank-faced, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Sohja did not much mind this iteration of human lust. He was well-trained enough to look, not touch. Based on what she’d observed in the last ninety minutes, he probably wouldn’t be brash enough to ask her anything personal. He understood Vulcan etiquette, didn’t necessarily like it, but knew to play by the rules. She might have to give him a chance.

When Captain Cody concluded, and much to Kirk’s annoyance, said she couldn’t answer questions because some people in the room didn’t have the right security clearances, or in Joe’s case, any at all, she gave a blanket invocation of the Official Secrets Act and closed the subject. Then, Sarek passed one of the folios to Buffalo Bill. “Can you loan one of the others to Captain Kirk?”

That was a good sign, the Advanced Aerospace usurper purposely including Kirk. Sohja’s business background had shown her more sour partnerships and mergers teetering on the edge of implosion because executives on the same levels of formerly separate companies remained defensive and territorial. If this was Buffalo Bill’s approach, it did a better job of keeping Kirk more emotionally stable, less likely to jump off the embankment.

“Well, here’s our part, Tinkerbell.” Joe gave Sohja a wink and a smile.

She wished her friend was being genuinely lighthearted instead of trying to keep everyone in the room from bottoming out. Sohja focused her comment on Kirk, McCoy, and Cody. “We are here as more than an escort for the Ambassador.”

“So, we’re to continue on our immediate mission, the Advanced Aerospace project, and let you work around us, no questions into what you’re up to while taking you anywhere you need to go?” Insulted by the words on the papers, Buffalo Bill closed the document holder to get it out of her face. “We just drop everything to be your soccer mom?”

T’Lal raised her head but continued to scratch the cypher onto the tablet. “Given what is taking place on the Enterprise, it does not matter which direction the ship is going, we can run all the tests we need.”

Captain Cody looked to her counterpart for some backup. Kirk stopped reading. Then she asked, “Where are we supposed to take you and why? We’re ordered to offer you any assistance you ask for? This is too vague for us to competently operate from.”

“It is possible we might find out the place or places we are going when I finish writing this out and translating it.” T’Lal said of the cypher.

“Man alive.” The doctor launched into melodrama to emphasize his point. “How can we be expected to take these orders in stride when there isn’t enough there to tell us how to screw in a lightbulb let alone turn it on? What are we supposed to make of that?”

“You are not obligated to trust us or our mission, Dr. McCoy. You simply have to perform as outlined in President Cullen’s instructions for the reason set forth by T’Pau.” Sarek wouldn’t devote any more energy to humans chasing their tails in search of satisfactory terms for their own edification and comfort.

“Billie, I’ve already been to Admiral Holt once about this and she said these decrees are quote, ' _The word of God_.’” Kirk tried to keep Buffalo Bill level, though it pained him to toe this line. “Let’s not waste time arguing to the higher-ups on this. We’ve got a ship to run and they’ve got what they’ve got.”

“Kevet-Dutar Sarek S’chn T’gai t’Surak, T’Kehr Kotekru Kaylara t’Lyr Saan T’Lal Ah’delvna MacCormack, amsetri tre. Keyh sahla k’feyei sarlah etek teretuhr les-tor ka-nemut.” Captain Cody recited the old accord.

“Sep-wafikh-tor etak.” Joe followed, then translated for Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy. “She said, to the Ambassador and the Teacher that we’re honored by their presence. The time has come through which together we target the same enemy. It’s an ancient vow between allies. The accepted response is either a firm Trashu-tor etak: _We leave_ , or Sep-wafikh-tor etak: _We agree_.”

Sohja offered her declaration of agreement.

McCoy, common sense guiding him nodded. “We agree. Jim?”

Not wanting to cede any more control over his life or his ship, Captain Kirk hesitated but followed in the doctor’s footsteps, especially in light of what he’d just said to Buffalo Bill about going along to get along. “We agree.”

  
  
  
An intensity building in her field of awareness is what finally got Sarah to open her eyes and enter into full consciousness. Her head no longer felt weighed down and dense. Something had lifted and she self-assessed at normal-ish, probably facing a couple more days of bed rest before going back to work.

“Hello, Nurse Chapel.” She welcomed the ever-present Christine. While Sarah didn’t know the nurse well in a personal manner, she’d always welcomed her professionally. Chapel never blamed the lab for any of her nurses’ mistakes, listened when Sarah requested redraws of body fluids or new samples, and never argued when asked to re-enter orders or patient information. Sarah wished all the nursing staff the medical profession over was like Christine. “Do you have any idea what happened to me? I was in the lab one minute, getting ready to run a chemistry panel, then I got a headache. I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Our Dr. Tralnor left you with a little something when he and Spock departed.” She came to the head of the bed and read some of the vital signs on the panels above. “A big ball of information that you were subconsciously trying to figure out but couldn’t. It seems he erred when he chose the recipient.”

An edgier response than she’d ever heard from the nurse, Sarah took what she needed from it to figure out what Christine was getting at. “When he shook my hand as we were saying goodbye. . . It must have been a memory bolus.”

“Well, whatever it was, you couldn’t handle it.” Chapel did something with one of the machines then stood over Sarah, coldly looking down upon her.

“He and I talked about yemtra vokayalar not that long ago. Depending on what’s being moved from person to person, the medial, me in this case, is actually meant to shut down in order to protect the information we’re carrying.” Sarah’s initial worry that something had gone wrong as implied by the nurse went away. “Someone’s retrieved it because I can absolutely feel where it was and I know it's gone now. Do you know who took it?”

“Dr. Tralnor should at least have chosen Seltun, where I could have kept watch over him, not you.”

“Is something wrong?” Sarah pushed onto her elbows and struggled to sit up.

“ _You’re awake_.” Was that an answer to Sarah’s query or a general statement?

From a previous admission to the sick bay inpatient ward, Sarah knew the beds were fitted with call buttons. She lay back and sent her left hand in search of the device. Chapel’s face had taken on a frightening glower. Why was the nurse directing her ire at a medical microbiologist?

“Is this what you’re looking for, Sarah?” She held the call button up and tucked it into the front of her uniform.

Sarah heard her own heartbeat spike on the vitals monitor.

“There’s no need to call for a nurse, not when I’m right here.”

“Christine?” The cool metal dispensing end of a hypospray pressed against Sarah’s neck.

“Don’t worry. All the records will say that you haven’t woken up yet.” A soulless smile stretched across her fair features. “Sleep well Sweet Sarah. You’re in good hands with me.”

  
  
  
“That’s enough!” Billie and Q’pik grabbed one of their people by the shoulders and pulled him out of the melee. “Stand down, all of you!”

Redshirts disentangled revealing a flurry of split lips, swelling knuckles, and ripening eyes. Mr. Scott burst onto the scene, Captain Kirk centimeters behind. “I’d better start getting a bloody good explanation for this or I’ll have no compunction on setting the whole lot of you down in the brig right-damned-now.”

The captains and first officers, just sitting down to get into the real meat of this experiment, were called out to an emergency in engineering. Territorialism, shot nerves, and others just following orders clashed and it all came to a head.

“Well?” Kirk spurred. “Someone had better answer Mr. Scott or—” Jim counted heads. “I’ll be writing eleven letters of reprimand on top of whatever time Scotty decides you need to cool off at Lt. Commander Calf Robe’s leisure.”

“And this being Calf Robe’s first week as our new security chief, he won’t be in a mood to cut you any slack either, lads.” Scotty approached an older Chief Petty Officer, Heinrich Schoenfeld. “Start talking.”

“They’re tearing out the warp core stabilizer safety backups and wiping the coordinating emergency subroutines from the computer, Sir. To say that is hazardous is not taking the problem they create seriously.” Schoenfeld sounded and felt completely justified in doing what he thought necessary to keep Enterprise and her crew safe.

“Lt. Kimber?” Q’pik prompted his Tanzanian engineer.

“As we tried to explain and were not listened to, the current stabilizer backups and subroutines are contraindicated in the safe operating parameters of our project.” Kimber tried to stay calm but bristled at every cough and harrumph to come from his Enterprise counterparts. “In the twelve hours, before casting off from Starbase 21, Advanced Aerospace will have installed its own fail-safes and redundancies for the protection of the warp core and its operators.”

“Told you.” An engineers’ mate popped off.

“Fuck off to your own ship.” Was a local’s response.

“Enough!” Kirk held up a hand. An uneasy quiet emerged before Enterprise’s captain had the final say. “Any more bullshit from this side, I’ve got no choice but to leave you on the dock for the duration of the testing. Understood?”

“For my guys, pull this crap again, you might get back out in the lanes humping the engine room on a support scow.” Billie didn’t kid around. “Get back to work, all of you.”

“ _Engineering, this is the helm_.” T’Lal’s voice came over the PA. “ _ETA for Harmonic Dissonance Cycling_?”

Lt. Commander Q’pik, ears crimped and sleek to the sides of his head, irritation for what just played out not starting to fade, replied. “Engineering, Q’pik here. We are behind schedule thanks to a minor dust-up amongst friends. No ETA at this time. Recheck in four hours.”

“ _Understood, Lt. Commander. Helm, out_.”

“Four hours?” Scotty’s brow raised. “My boys can have us back on track in under two.”

“I have no doubt as to your team’s abilities, Lt. Commander Scott.” Q’pik regarded the line of brawlers. “Four hours allows for heads to cool before we all start moving forward together.”

“Oh, aye. You got me there, Mr. Q’pik.” And to the berated, he said, “You’ve got an hour to take off, grab a bite, mend your faces and your attitudes. My counterpart and I will be back down here to ride herd and make sure you can all behave.”

Rather than head back up to Kirk’s office, the four of them opted for the same clapped-out room where he’d so brutally shot down Spock’s declaration of love. It seemed fitting that he return to this space, without the Vulcan, forced to endure as something he loved was taken away from him.

“I need both of you to sign off on a project-specific rider for the Official Secrets Act. Where some Advanced Aero ringleaders would choose to leave you in the dark, that’s not my MO. I need you actively involved because no one knows this ship better than the two of you.” Billie had hauled a data padd with her and gave it over to Kirk.

Kirk scrolled through the legalese, taking stock of the stiff language and stiffer penalties for sharing information, and scrawled his name across the bottom. Scotty didn’t bother to look at the document, just signed. “Okay, let’s have it, Billie.”

“Welcome to the first large-scale test of the Exponential Warp Acceleration and Field Stimulus Project.” She accepted the padd and placed her signature on the appropriate line.

Kirk didn’t know right off what this meant, but it set off something in Scotty. His engineer looked faint, opened his mouth, nothing escaping but silence.


	95. Chapter 95

The view from the vista was breathtaking, the likes Laura had never seen before. Her single childhood trip to Montana, the Girl Scouts rode their noble beasts along the floor and lowest inclines of the Madison Valley.

They’d decided to take a break here so they might have a firsthand view of Administrative Settlement No.9 from above, to see it with their own eyes and not be entirely reliant on distorted satellite images. The ancient Vulcans had not thought highly of Pezig’s Gate, or the people incarcerated there if place names were any indication.

Laura recognized this world for what it was, an expansive gulag. They’d visited a couple of the prisoner settlements, reviewed the primitive conditions, and decided that if the inmates had something like this box of evil, they’d have unleashed it and returned to a realm of indoor plumbing and electric lights.

“Have you ever seen anything like this, Veddah?” She moved about half-a-meter back toward the car.

“Survival training in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.” Then he added, “That is where I encountered snow for the first time.”

“ _You’ve been in the snow_?” She smiled at the mental image of Cadet Veddah making a real snow angel. “I have always wanted to ride on a sled, like the kind you see on the Christmas and New Year’s cards. The closest I’ve ever come to snow is eating a sno-cone at an amusement park.”

“It is not the cold or the wet that left the largest impression on me.” He said, contradicting her assumption. “Snow is very unstable, much like sand or scree. I had a difficult time moving about because I kept falling down.”

“I wonder if its like ice skating in a way? I’ve done that. Los Angeles had a lot of indoor rinks and arenas when I was a child.” She made for the driver’s side.

“That I cannot say. Just as I had never had the experience of eating chocolate candy, I have not tried ice skating.” He got into his seat.

“Well then, we’ll put that down on a list of things we’d like to do in our ultimate fantasy married life.” She clapped out at a control panel that kept trying to engage hover mode. This ground was too uneven to retract the wheels and float along.

“Adun’a, do you believe your diamond stash is enough to buy us a new life?” He watched her think of what to say.

“It’s a start. We have to find this thing. That’s how we’ll really get our break.” She eased the car over a domed boulder the size of a house.

“Are we trading it for currency?”

“I am going to use it the best way I know how. When applied in the proper manner, blackmail and extortion are very effective means of communicating and obtaining what you need. Money is trivial. Money comes and goes. That box, what’s on those memory chips, that’s power. Power buys a hell of a lot more than money does.”

He didn’t have to like the truth. “If it comes to that.”

“Believe me, Veddah. If we’re going to get out of this alive, I have to play dirty. End of.”

  
  
  
“Any word?” Mollie sat across from her brother at the hotel’s coffee shop.

Tralnor powered down his phone. “Nothing yet. We can’t get confirmation if they’ve made it to the ship until they break the cypher and respond.”

“Spock checked before I came down, Enterprise is still moored at Starbase 21. That ship isn’t going anywhere without T’Lal at the wheel.” Taking a menu from an almost too-chipper waitress, Mollie scanned the offerings. “I can’t help but feel bad for the crew with her at the controls. She’ll put them through the wringer.”

“Be glad we don’t have to experience it.”

“Oh, I am. The weeks I’ve spent with her as my flight instructor, I’ve come into a whole new appreciation for her piloting skills.” She bet on her old favorite, cheese danish, and decided to experiment with a “supercharged” Black Forest espresso drink with extra whipped cream.

“Do you think Captain Kirk’s suffered a coronary yet?” Tralnor dropped a chunk of glazed donut into his coffee then chased it around with a spoon.

“He will.” Mollie couldn’t sense Spock nearby and decided to take on a more pressing topic. “Tralnor, what’s your interpretation of what happened last night? _He called me his wife_.”

“Any time but the present, I’d think it was said in the heat of the moment to convey emphasis that Portman needed to leave you the hell alone. Now? It causes me great concern.” Coffee-logged donut scooped from the mug and deposited in his mouth, Tralnor repeated his actions with another bit of pastry.

Breakfast delivered, Mollie took a sip of her beverage. “I don’t know how to approach this without doing more damage. My fear is that anything I say or do that has even the slightest risk of being misinterpreted as me rejecting him as a potential husband will send him over the edge.”

“We are of the same mind.”

“As of the day we left the Enterprise, he’s asked me three different times if I could love him as more than my friend.” The haunted look on Spock’s face as he sought the affirmative shook her to the fibers of her soul. “I am truly scared for him. What happens the next time I tell him I don’t know?”

Spoon abandoned in his coffee, Tralnor said, “That goddamned Jim Kirk.”

  
  
  
Twenty-one consecutive days, that’s how long the test needed to run once Wild West Show’s team got everything set up. After the description Billie gave of how this warp accelerator worked, Kirk was surprised that her ship was in any kind of reparable condition. He prayed Enterprise did not meet the same fate or worse.

He consulted a wall chronometer and didn’t want to believe that it was only 1412 in the afternoon. This was easily in the running for the longest day of his life. Responding to Billie’s invitation to meet her on the bridge, he left his quarters. He’d popped in to read a book that had nothing to do with starships or exploration for about twenty minutes to settle his mind. It hadn’t worked. Still agitated, Jim decided to take the slightly longer route to the bridge and turned right instead of left, sending him past Spock’s empty cabin.

 _I’d rather have you here and be fighting than not have you here at all_. He wanted to stop and press the doorbell, knowing full well nobody would answer, if only to grant himself a single second of normality. _Stop mooning you dumbass_.

This return to the bridge was far less vertigo-inducing than before. Gaps in floors and walls were filling back in, other cosmetic improvements helped him feel less ejected from his own domain. This was okay and his heart stayed on a steady beat until he encountered an unfamiliar man at the science station.

“Captain Kirk, this is Lt. Zane Churchill, my deputy chief science officer.” Billie introduced the pretty towheaded boy whose appearance was such a contrast to Spock’s that it almost insulted Kirk’s senses. “And joining TJ, I’ve got my usual daily driver, Lt. Yvette King.”

Kirk nodded at them as Billie pulled her trusty communicator out of her trouser pocket. Too bad, he’d liked the dress and go-go boots, but now that this project was taking off, practicality won out over looking good. “Who’s your chief science officer?”

“Technically, me.” Billie said. “That’s just how research vessels of USS Callisto’s sort are organized. And, when Command says research vessel, it’s not the same as the straight science boats like April Tsung’s Sierra. They do geology, aquifers, dendrology, geography, and the like, and that’s all they do. Very specialized.”

“Right.” Unlike a heavy cruiser, these much smaller ships could fill hyper-specific niches when certain expertise was needed. “What’s Wild West Show?”

“We’re a Skunk Works testbed. Wild West Show itself, like her experimental sister vessel, Mustang Sally, aka, USS Sally Ride, are prototypes for the new Oberth class science ship. We’re giving that hull a licking to see what she can take long term. Inside, we’ve got dozens of classified projects running. Ship-wide, we try out new computer operating systems and user interfaces. Then there are the big guns, like what we’re testing here on Enterprise. On top of all that, I’ve got my workplace stress analysis data that I’m gathering because Wild West Show is my living laboratory on the behavioral psych front. Most of my crew are volunteers who don’t mind being professional lab rats. So, we bop around, running our tests, shuffling diplomats and VIPs, hauling shit, and generally going wherever Advanced Aero sends us.”

“They sure do keep you busy.” He saw she was getting settled in at auxiliary science and understood why she chose that station from any other vantage. Billie was an observer and interpreter of humanoid behavior. If she moved Kirk and took over the center seat, she couldn’t see him in action and had no open view of communications or primary science. She also got a better look at the body language of the helmsmen. _Still entitled to wear science blues indeed_.

“Excuse me.” She dialed Q’pik in on her communicator.

Kirk sat down in his chair. No one had messed around with it for which he was grateful.

“Alright kids, let’s finish stapling the helm back together. Scotty’s got us ready to start Harmonic Dissonance Cycling in under twenty minutes. Be ready.”

“Acknowledged.” From T’Lal.

Lt. King grinned. “Yes, Sir.”

Now it struck him how hard it was to hear someone else issuing orders on his bridge while he occupied a lead throne.

  
  
  


“I thought you said Sarah was supposed to be getting better?” Alton Avery had come to visit his friend and was concerned about her waxen appearance. She’d not looked like this yesterday and a mind-meld with someone like Dr. Tralnor’s mother shouldn’t have left Sarah so frazzled and drained.

Dr. McCoy, someone with whom Avery had had little contact in his time aboard the Enterprise, disengaged from whatever he was doing and regarded the young lieutenant. He’d addressed the lads at lunch, gladly letting them all know their friend was finally on the mend.

Avery, concerned that the doctor wasn’t saying anything, went with him back into Sarah’s room. He thought McCoy would say he was being an overreactive little ninny, only to see the CMO’s eyes widen and watch him immediately punch a button to bring nurses and other support staff flooding in.

Moved out of the way and left to witness a mystery, Avery could only watch as sick bay fought to save Sarah. He did find one detail about this more than off: the blond nurse, the one who wanted to shag all the Vulcan guys, cast her shadow from the doorway. She looked like she wanted to say McCoy was wasting his time.

  
  
  
Sohja set her luggage on the bunk to her left and started sorting through her attache case for a paper file containing more of Kevin Radovitch’s misdeeds. She keyed on the desktop terminal, wanting to stage a meeting with James Kirk and Enterprise’s legal team so she could give a deposition, not mentioning the reason for doing so involved her inclusion in the possibly fatal hunt for the tavalik duv-tor.

That’s when Joe came clamoring into the cabin she’d volunteered to share with him so Sarek and T’Lal might have some time to scheme by themselves. “Holy shit, was I lost trying to find this place. Enterprise doesn’t exactly have a fiesta deck and a casino to use as landmarks.”

For the first time in days, Joe laughed at one of his own dumb jokes and Sohja genuinely believed he was starting to feel better. “You should have asked for an escort.”

“Did you see poor little Crewman Third Class Pizza Face down there? He was so fucking terrified of screwing up Ambassador Scary Uncle’s berthing I worried asking for directions might make the kid’s head pop.”

“Sarek does have that effect on—”

“ _Shit_.” Joe held his hand up, cutting her off. “Our devil has spoken and is right at our door.”

Sohja preemptively answered the coming summons. “Welcome, Sir.”

This felt like a too soon reconvening of their time on No.213, only now there was a place to make an escape to when the lively debate overwhelmed her senses.

“So, now that we’re here, how is this supposed to work?” Joe unzipped a pocket on his bag, removed a small stainless steel flask, and started unscrewing the lid. “ _Hey! Give that back you cranky old bastard_.”

Sarek poured Joe’s precious vodka down the sink before the human could physically react. Flask empty, the older man returned it as requested.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Joe shook the empty container. “I needed that.”

“Mr. Bergman, recall that we are attempting to keep you from self-harming.” Sarek lacked the unyielding demeanor he was famously associated with. “In the brief time I have known you, I have borne witness to your attempts at partially medicating your pain. The alcohol, and your penchant for following it with amphetamines, is not actually helping you.”

Joe bristled. “It takes the edge off.”

Habituated to his use of various substances, Sohja paid Joe’s chemical cocktails no mind. Living with him as a student, working with him in different capacities over the years, the booze and stimulants didn’t hinder his abilities to think, create, or interact with the world. He’d never exhibited traits of dependency and could abstain without lapsing into withdrawal symptoms. She’d never thought to worry about this behavior.

“It tricks you into believing that you are numbing your emotional responses while wreaking havoc on your body.” The older man said. “Right now, you are still young, and your ability to rebound from the deleterious effects these substances place on your anatomy and physiology is still intact. However, there are cumulative effects of their long-term use.”

“You sound like my high school health class instructor.” Joe’s fight, his sarcasm, had fled.

“If you were someone who imbibed in a single glass of whiskey in the evenings as part of your relaxation ritual, I would not take issue with your consumption habits.” He briefly looked to Sohja. “She will have a martini, participating in the social activities of those she works with or consumes one because she has developed a taste for them. Her drinking is not excessive, nor is it in response to psychological distress.”

Joe tossed the empty flask on his bunk. “I’m not an addict if that’s what you’re trying to say. I’ve been in Hollywood my whole life and believe me, I know what damn near every kind of addiction, from gambling to sleeping pills, looks like. That’s not me.”

“No, Mr. Bergman, it is not.” The ambassador engaged Joe, eye-to-eye. “We are keeping you from transitioning into that state.”

The human let off with a grudging nod of acceptance. “That was still a dick move though. Ved Muy is top shelf, pure Russian spirits. Someone would have appreciated it, even if that someone wasn’t me.”

“Captain Kirk to No.213, your presence is required on the bridge.” The PA stopped any conversation. “No.213, report to the bridge.”


	96. Chapter 96

Author's Note: My apologies for double posting yesterday's chapter. I've rooted out the duplicate. This proves that I need to make sure I've gotten some decent sleep before posting. A huge thanks to you, readers, for joining me on this adventure.

  
  
  
  
  


“What the fuck kind of business do we have on the bridge?” Everyone heard Joe the moment the turbo lift doors opened. “So, what? We’re the next contestants on _The Price is Right_?”

Kirk, blessed by the absurdity of Joe’s outburst, allowed himself an unprofessional chuckle. “I hesitate to ask, but price what right?”

He turned in his chair, thinking he’d see two dead-serious faces and a grinning, dippy human. If anything, Joe was more muted than his companions. Hawaiian shirt a strange contrast to the stalwart utility of the bridge, Joe wrapped his hands around the railing and squeezed. Kirk had to ask, “Are you feeling okay, Joe?”

“What is that?” Sohja moved further into the command center and tried to absorb the lines and lines of gibberish scrolling on the main viewer.

“ _Oh, goddamnit_.” Joe began to pale.

“You recognize it?” Jim had to think this was a good thing. “What does it say?”

“Told you he’d be the one.” Billie said.

T’Lal stood so she could face the film producer. “This is the block of information I removed from Lt. David this morning.”

Joe’s eyes darkened. “And I’m the only person still alive who’s not on No.742 that knows how to run this cypher and extract any meaning from it.”

  
  
  
Flying above the millions of square kilometers of mostly coniferous wilderness, No.742 hummed along, taking them to the husk of the prison’s main administrative center. Sha’leyen and Mollie were at the controls for this leg. Crossing into the backcountry proved no problem. They’d encountered a ranger patrol vehicle not a hundred clicks over the border and were paid no mind. Portman had come through. It seemed no one was going to bother the geologic survey company.

“Do you think this place is bursting with precious metals? That seems like the prevalent theory, but I haven’t seen any proof that will bring the Forty-niners calling.” Mollie looked out at the summit of a jagged peak.

“According to my interpretation of the careless and half-assed Phase One reports Pezig’s has in their files? They’re banking on the wrong natural resources to derive additional income.” Sha’leyen’s first read of the official reports from the Preservation Office impressed her with how little the people who ran the planet actually knew about their world. “Of course metals are valuable, but Pezig’s Gate is home to some of the largest barred ivorystone deposits in the quadrant. Take that, plus the billions of square meters of lumber that comes up out of the ground, they stand to make their real fortune from the building construction sector.”

“Watch us find a gold nugget the size of a firetruck.” Mollie entered a slight correction to account for wind coming down over a jagged line of mountain ridges. (Sha’leyen, I asked Tralnor this morning, but what’s your opinion on Spock’s declaration last night?)

(He is desperate to gather the reassurance that you can find contentment as his wife because he is acutely aware that you are his _friend_.)

(What of Captain Kirk?) Mollie could not let her overriding concern for Spock abate.

_Yes, what of Captain Kirk_? Sha’leyen asked herself. The man was coming completely undone. How much was the consequence of the Melbek III ordeal and what was because of a poorly personal life?

(You’ve known the guy for years. My impression, from the few encounters I’ve had with him, is that he’s a petty, jealous character who hates my guts because he doesn’t want to share his toys with the other children.) Mollie’s voice hummed with disgust at this person who supposedly loved her friend. (I don’t know that he’s capable of seeing Spock as an individual with certain needs and not just a possession to be fought over like a house in a contentious divorce.)

Sha’leyen took a deep breath, letting it out in measured increments. (Jim Kirk does love Spock, honestly, deeply. He does.)

(But can he do it without immolating Spock and the people he holds dear?)

(That is yet to be seen, but his slash and burn approach isn’t working. He knows that as surely as we do. The best resolution is for Kirk to stop caving to visceral reactions and follow the path of reason.) Sanity had not been the captain’s strongest point as of late. Sha’leyen had borne some of the brunt of that instability.

(You don’t have to be a master of logic to attenuate that. What I’ve observed since Tralnor was assigned to the Enterprise is that Captain Kirk is incapable of rational thinking when it comes to Spock. What would have happened if he found out about me after they’d already been dating for a while?) Mollie looked to Sha’leyen. (Carnage, am I right?)

  
  
  
Silvio curled his lip at Laura, refusing to do what he was told. He didn’t want to get his ass up out of her chair and look something up on another console. “I’m not asking you to do this, _I’m telling you_.”

“Why can’t you get someone else? It’s not like a whole bunch of other people can’t find the same bit of information.” He was liking the feel of the center seat a bit too much. “Or better yet, you come up and get it yourself. Then, we can get the fuck out of here. We’ve been hanging around for too long. Port Authority is getting nosey.”

“I’m docking you a day’s pay for not doing your damned job.” She didn’t have time to play around with the adult child she was stuck with as a first officer.

“ _You can’t_ —”

“Stop whining you big baby.” She was glad that she’d put Veddah on driving duty for the afternoon. “One more contradiction out of you and I’m putting Morgana in charge.”

He huffed and shoved himself to his feet. “What am I looking for?”

She gave him the name of the file and the extension. “Send it to my inbox.”

“Okay, I’ll—This is encrypted.”

“It better be.” She said. “And if it doesn’t make it to me in absolutely pristine condition, I’m putting Morgana in charge.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’d never get into this by myself and it’s obviously not worth trying to crack it. I’m not even going to ask what this thing is.” He tapped a few keys and embedded the file into a message. “I just hit send. You should have it in a blink.”

“Any other news?” She didn’t want him hanging up until she confirmed receipt.

“Liam’s conscious. Says he’s glad you blew Farmer’s head off. He thinks Des snuck back on in a crate full of stuff for the kitchen. That way, he got past the guys down in cargo and Signe, if she saw him, didn’t know he was fired and wouldn’t have thought anything about seeing a member of the crew looking for something to eat.”

“And there are dozens of bolt holes he could have hidden in until he got horny and stupid.” Nothing in her message queue yet.

“Reminds me of the time three years ago when the whole Anna Jones thing went down. Only she was still a member of the crew and mutiny is an executable offense.” That Silvio still got off on the memory of Laura doling out the ultimate punishment went a long way to show what a creep he was.

“Well, she did try to murder me and take over my ship. She got what was coming to her.” One last check of her inbox, the message finally arrived.

“The look on her face when you caught her out, that was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. She thought she was hot shit.” He gave her a sultry grin. “I wish you were here.”

She refused to entertain his hard-on. “Captain Hillyard, out.”

File open, she started deciphering what she needed from it. “Ugh, he can be such a pervert sometimes. The only reason I’ve kept him around for so long is that his father is one of Daniel Shelley’s biggest ass-kissers. Silvio has worked the Sweetness for eight years. He’s an okay lower-level thug, but he’s too fucking dumb to realize that he should have stayed in art school instead of cultivating this tough cargo ship persona everyone can see through.”

Veddah didn’t think a powerful parent was reason enough to tolerate a useless dipshit like Silvio for so long. “I do not know how you abide by his laziness.”

“The proper form of motivation tends to right him fairly quickly, and when he gets all the bitching out of his system and focuses on a task, he does a good job. Plus, Shelley despises him.” She kept on with her modern version of a one-time pad. “But damned if Old Man Mazzi doesn’t pump a lot of cash into the coffers. If only his sons were a quarter as smart as he is. You met Damian. Silvio is a Nobel Laureate compared to the brother.”

“Are you unable to dismiss Silvio in any form? Does his family curry that much favor from your organization?”

“I wouldn’t call if favor. Money buys influence, not favor.” She unlocked the code phrase and opened the channel that would send her through the off-world interchange and place her in contact with one of her spies.

The screen went live on the other side. A haughty female voice said, “You have chosen an inopportune time to contact me. I will respond to your query later.”

“You’re going to talk now or I’ll have your name and vitals shopped out to the V’Shar before you can even think that hanging up on me was a bad idea.” Laura stated fact, not a threat. “So, take Stonn’s dick out of whatever orifice he’s infesting, tell the spineless whelp to fuck off for an hour, and give me the updates I was supposed to have by this morning.”

“She cannot talk about me—” Stonn, belly-aching and cow-towing his trademarks, was shoved out of bed. “ _T’Pring I do not like it when_ —”

Laura motioned to Veddah that he needed to stay absolutely silent while she was on this call. Ready to tell Stonn to hurry the fuck up, he finally scuttled out of the room. Talk about failing to understand how someone tolerated another person’s laziness, what kind of an idiot cut themselves out of a family like Spock’s for a life with a mushy, mealy, facsimile of a living creature?

“Your name is showing up in a lot of Interpol and Starfleet Security dispatches.” T’Pring lingered, not giving any follow-up.

“Quit stalling, T’Pring and give me what I’m paying you for.” Laura lifted a brow and tilted her head. “Recall what happened the last time you held out and tried to lie to me. You think you’re a genius who can trick me, but honey, I’m smarter and meaner than you’ve ever dreamed.

“You don’t want a repeat of our previous bad dealings.” Laura had her. T’Pring’s jaw twitched. “If I cut you off again, where will you go? You’re fortunate that your parents were willing to let you move back into the family home. How many hundreds of thousands of credits are you still in debt?”

“Mallia Ah’delevna is traveling on a High Council Writ issued by T’Pau. She also has a Presidential Decree that allows for her to interfere with all manner of local governments, commercial craft, and Starfleet.”

“ _And_?”

“There is a second Writ and Decree in play.” T’Pring, held to the fire, finally disclosed what Laura was paying her for. “The person holding this set documents is Ambassador Sarek.”

“Is that so?” Laura found the declaration more amusing than anything. “What’s your former father-in-law got to do with any of this?”

“The Ambassador was _never_ —”

“You fucked up bad on that one. All you had to do was screw Spock once every seven years and you could have lived in the lap of luxury left to your own devices. Hell, with Mollie MacCormack still a huge presence in his life, you might never have had to sleep with him at all.” Laura smiled and watched the cold woman on the other end bristle with barely contained contempt.

“Sarek and T’Lal Ah’delevna are coming for you.” A subtle gleam of satisfaction shined in her eyes.

“That’s sweet of you to think I’m important enough for artifact hunters of that calibre to be hunting me down, but they don’t give a shit about me except for wanting to beat me to the prize.”

Called out a second time, T’Pring took on a sour scowl. “You are a malignancy.”

“No, T’Pring, _I’m the one you and Stonn are whoring yourselves out to for money_. I could probably have had five new, lower maintenance spies pulling the info I want for a fraction of the price I pay you.” Laura let that sink in for a second. “Honestly though, I savor the thought that you hate humans so much that you sacrificed a financially stable future with Spock so you had to become completely dependent on me. What is it like to commit treason because you can’t afford to pay your creditors?”

Aghast, T’Pring offered no comeback.

“Any other ground-shattering revelations before you go back to fucking your man-child?”

“Tatyana Golovkin is making freedom of information queries about your schooling when you lived here. It hardly seemed worth mentioning.”

And T’Pring was incapable of cooking up a guess about what Laura’s mother was up to.

“The rest of it?” Laura prompted.

“Livia Ah’delevna MacCormack is searching for much the same information.”

Now, that was odd. Who knew what Tatyana’s true motivation for anything was? Livia was a physician specializing in neuropsionics whose children Laura had terrorized. Was this a revenge thing? This gave Laura’s mind something to chew on as she and Veddah searched the next ghost town.

“Anything else of interest you may have gleaned since the last time we spoke, you know where to send it. Don’t be late.” Laura unceremoniously cut her end of the call. “Well, Veddah, it looks like we’ve got some competition.”

  
  
  
Tralnor withdrew his hand from Spock’s face. “I’m not finding him anywhere.”

“I heard him last night.” Spock blinked heavily at the recollection of his captain’s pleas. “It was not a dream.”

“No, not a dream at all.” Tralnor agreed. “And it was just Jim’s voice? There wasn’t any astral projection or two-way conversation?”

“Only his words. . .” Spock was at a loss for Kirk’s impingement on his sleeping mind. “It is not like we are bonded and have the possibility of making inroads to one another over great distances. Yet, he reached out and found me.”

“Humans are strange creatures and their minds are an enduring mystery.”

“Indeed.”

“The only thing I can tell you to do right now is try to block him out until we get back to the Enterprise. Then, we can get him some psionic awareness training and teach him to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself.” Tralnor didn’t express his doubts that Kirk could attain that kind of discipline.


	97. Chapter 97

Jim Kirk was finding it hard to read the reams of gobbledegook on the main viewer. His brain hated that he couldn’t make immediate sense of it and didn’t know if it was complex or merely designed to give breakers headaches.

_Set092149/No.67:A3S22SH11FR19ob4rL6 a_

_Departure Board 111150 nd_

_Squad124/3 a_

_Set061985/No.332:A1S5SH2VOobcontentL1 p_

Joe asked T’Lal to single out those four bits from the third line of the code on the first page. “This refers to the USC Film Archive as it was on the day we started this project.”

“What was this, Joe? It doesn’t look familiar to me.” Billie was still scratching her head. “But, should it?”

“Stare at it for long enough and a few bits might jump out at you.” Joe’s hands started to cramp and Sohja went over and unfurled his fingers from the guardrail. Kirk found it curious that she would touch him without hesitation.

“I’m going to guess Squad 124/3 is band-related?” Billie was leaned against the helm now, blocking Lt. King’s view.

“Yep and that’s the only gimme in the entire cypher.” Joe’s color wasn’t improving. He’d become the same shade as the bulkheads. Kirk ordered the producer to sit down before he fell down. Seated at the empty auxiliary security station, Joe pointed to the first item. “That’s the set of films from September 2149, film number sixty-seven from that month, Act Three, Scene twenty-two, Shot eleven, Frame nineteen, fourth object in the background from the right side of the screen, sixth letter of the word that object is called.”

“Okay, seems easy enough.” Billie granted herself some respite. “This just looks nastier than it is.”

“That’s funny, Captain Bill.” Joe replied.

“What do you mean?” She didn’t like this development.

“This code was created in a military history class. Spock, Paulette, and Balloch had to take it as a required class. Tralnor and I were in there for a history elective credit. You don’t think two Vulcans and a trio of assholes are going to let you off that easy, do you?”

Billie’s face lit with recognition. “That was Commander Aflatooni’s Warfare and Clandestine Communications, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Joe kept staring at the screen.

“I took it the year before you guys did. I remember the big group assignment was to try to write a completely new code. The big wigs in Starfleet ops would evaluate them all at year’s end as they came in from the Academy and all of the ROTC programs. Didn’t the winners get some kind of award?” She was nodding now.

“I remember that assignment.” Kirk said. “It was huge, worth something like three-quarters of our grade for the term. The one my group came up with wasn’t anything special, but we got an A for it.”

“Ours wasn’t great either. It didn’t help that we had that slime mold Nolan bogging us down, but that’s neither here nor there.” Billie leveled her gaze back at Joe.

“We won the award that year, but the brass, who were really looking for new things to implement into their own programs by contracting free student labor said ours wasn’t what they were looking for. That meant we got to keep it and it was never adopted by anyone beyond our little group using it to bounce ideas around.” He disentangled from Sohja, got up, and grasped the guardrail again. “So, the next bit is where the band travelled to on the date listed. Third bit is Squad 124, third person. Fourth bit is a film, in its final script draft from June of 1986. Act one, Scene five, Shot two, Voice Over object described, contents of the object, first letter of contents.”

“Great.” Kirk said, looking at the viewer and seeing hundreds of these film referrals. “This should be interesting. Once we get the hang of it, we’ll figure it out.”

“It is not that simple, Captain Kirk.” Sarek said. “None of the film references are repeats. There are multiple dates and places that only mean anything to the creators of the code. Once those two types of cyphers are removed from the screen and solved for, there are hundreds of others that Mr. Bergman has not explained yet.”

“About a third of those are anagrams, but the trick with those is the word you’re solving for is in itself a part of a secondary substitution code. Another third are math equations. That last third is contextual questions. We went out of our way to make this as obnoxious as possible.” Joe read some more of the code to himself. “Well, if I’m going to crack this sucker open, I’ll be needing a connection to the film and script libraries. This would be easier if we could get ahold of Casey Strausser.”

A strange, intense look exchanged between Sohja and Billie.

“Tell us where to find this person and we’ll get them for you.” Kirk wanted to get this message translated and see where Sarek’s decree was taking them.

“Crazy Casey is the lead film archivist at the school.” Billie said. “At least she was five years ago.”

“Rest assured she hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s still there and probably will be for life.” Joe confirmed. “I’ll take the film references.”

“Sohja and I will do what we can with the band related stuff.” Billie motioned for Sohja to come to her station.

“Who wants the math?” Joe asked.

Lt. King’s hand went up. “Church and I will take a stab at it.”

“That’s going to leave the anagrams for the Ambassador, Captain T’Lal, and myself.” Kirk was ready to go.

“Lt. Uhura, let’s get Joe in touch with his archivist.”

  
  
  
Lt. Avery was reading to Sarah. She was hooked up to all manner of life-support machinery following her catastrophic degeneration earlier in the day. He marked his place in the text when he heard someone approaching. He hoped it wasn’t that creepy nurse.

“I am here to take over, Alton.”

 _Seltun just called me by my first name_? _This has been a strange fucking day._ Avery was thankful for the respite. He had to be down in engineering all night to pitch in with this warp accelerator experiment. “Believe it or not, she’s doing a lot better.”

“Her ordeal has been strenuous.” Seltun looked her over, probably a lot less mystified about all the medical equipment, but just as worried about her well-being.

“Be wary of the blond nurse. She’s been acting weird around Sarah all day.” Avery felt idiotic saying something like that, but he didn’t trust that woman. “She’s up to something and it’s not because she wants to help Sarah recover.”

“That is an extreme claim.” Seltun replaced Avery in the bedside chair.

“Remember, this is the person who thinks Vulcans collectively abuse their children for no reason. I’m telling you, keep an eye on her. She’s dangerous.”

“I will.”

“Andy is coming to take over in three hours and Chris has volunteered to be here all night.” Avery had set up a rotation so Sarah was never left alone. “Dr. McCoy says she’s going to be okay. We just need to be vigilant to make sure no one interferes with her recovery.”

  
  
  
The woman from the film library would _not stop talking_. She had a pathological need to hear her own voice. Each reference Joe fed to her, she had to try and flex her movie knowledge muscles with every behind the scenes, making of, box office result, legacy factoid she could puke out.

“Casey, enough torrential verbiage.” Sohja went up behind Joe where he’d been seated at the communications console. All other activity on the bridge ceased when she transferred the live link to Los Angeles up to the main viewer. “If we wanted you to talk at us about film history we would register for your class.”

" _Hello, Sohja_.” Casey Strausser, a nondescript human with lurid lime green hair, screwed her face into a pout. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“An entirely intentional act on my behalf.” The Vulcan replied.

“You should have fucking seen it, Joey. Sohja was asked to come in and talk to the freshman silks last fall and got them so terrified of her that over half of them started to cry.” A quick glance at Sohja. “She’s just that damned mean.”

“Can I please just get the frames and scenes I need, Casey. It’s important if you couldn’t tell from where I’m at and the people surrounding me.” Joe tried to turn on a little charm but his heart wasn’t in it.

“I don’t know what he sees in you, Tinkerbell.” Casey looked down to her left.

“At least Sohja knows how to shut up every once in a while.” Billie moved front and center, standing just behind T’Lal and Lt. King.

“For fuck’s sake, Joey, the co-star and the not-girlfriend?” The archivist’s bubbly, babbling demeanor went out the door. “How many more of your cheerleaders are hidden offscreen?”

“We’re asking you to help us with this so we don’t have to order you to do it.” Joe had sent her a list that redacted the objects the code pointed out. “I need these images.”

A hand on Joe’s shoulder, Sohja said, “This is not a folly, Casey.”

Unenthusiastic about the task, Casey pried her line of sight from the place where the Vulcan touched her human friend and started reading the list. “I know something that would make this go a hell of a lot faster.”

“What’s that?” Captain Kirk prodded. “If there’s anything we can do to help this along.”

“The annual AFI Shrine Luncheon is in two weeks. If Joey can find it within himself to take me and finally make the introduction to Davina Marsters—” Casey coughed at Joe’s swift interruption.

“ _Not a chance_.” Joe warned.

“You’re not still holding out for—”

“Captain Bill is taking over now, Casey.” Joe turned his back to the green-haired goof. 

" _Fuck you, Joe Bergman_.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” Joe uttered. “ _Still never going to sleep with you_.”

Casey sort of regrouped and glared at Billie. “So, what is it, Maeve?”

Under threat of arrest by Starfleet Security, Buffalo Bill Cody finally got this Casey character to cooperate. The added motivation of a grumpy Vulcan ambassador possibly flexing his might got the dingbat woman on the full pursuit of what Joe needed.

The same moment Joe declared that he’d gotten the still frames he sought for his part of the code, Sohja severed the connection to earth and said, “Dealing with Casey is always a matter of endurance.”

“She's saner than usual, I’d say.” Billie revolved to see Kirk and indicated her frustration with her former bandmate. “When we were all undergrads together, she thought she was the universe’s best filmmaker because she could psychically communicate with the departed souls of Hitchcock, Lucas, and Spielberg. She's been trying to get into Henny-Penny’s drawers since about the second week of their freshman year.”

Joe shuddered and pulled a face. “I’d rather have my dick surgically removed than ever touch her with it.”

Jim thought that an exaggerated response. More than once in his Starfleet tenure, he’d taken one for the team if it meant getting something important. A little sex could go a long way.

“Don’t look at me like that, Captain Kirk.” Joe clearly reviled his former classmate. “If I’d said yes to her little stunt at the AFI gig I’d never have another moment’s peace for the rest of my life.”

“She’s got the china pattern picked out, chosen the names of your children, and has a secret wedding registry ready for immediate launch.” Wild West Show’s captain made a gagging motion.

“Are you trying to give me worse nightmares than I’ve already got?” Joe started hitting buttons and viewing their hard-won bounty. “Her career stalled out years ago, leaving her with little more to cling to than a nine-to-five as a librarian. She doesn’t just want to fuck me, she wants to cannibalize me so she can make all the projects she feels she’s been denied.”

“ _Talentless hack_.” Billie said. “Also, take note that she wasn’t good enough to get into the production program and graduated with a critical studies degree.”

“One need not be exclusively enrolled in film production to create worthwhile films.” T’Lal, who’d watched this whole crazy exchange unfurl, commented.

“It only would have helped her.” Billie didn’t think much of this informational gatekeeper. “How’s it going over there, Joe?”

“I’m moving through these pretty quick. We’ll be cooking with gas in no time.” Sohja’s hand was back on his shoulder.

 _What is going on with them_? Kirk knew Joe and Sohja weren’t lovers no matter how much Joe desired that to be the case. He wanted to ask, to see if there was something he might learn from them to apply to his waning relationship with Spock. He only stopped staring at them when a conversation between the ambassador and the pilot rattled his focus.

T’Lal and Sarek bunched together near the main view screen. Their words meant nothing to Kirk, but the subtleties in tone and inflection marked them as expressing concern. “Billie, should we be worried?”

“Probably.” She tried to pick out what was being said.

“After this morning, I know that you know Vulcan.” The fine hairs on the back of Jim’s neck stood at attention.

“They’re speaking in Old Lyr Saan.” Billie gathered Sohja and Joe where they could huddle around the captain’s chair. “I don’t know Old Lyr Saan.”

Joe’s head bobbed to the rhythm of that conversation. “I think they’re saying something about a Belonite noble and a long flight to find her?”

“Lt. Commander Sha’leyen?” Kirk rattled off the only Belonite he knew.

“Can’t be sure. Um, _artifact analysis_. . .” Joe ground some gears as he shook the translation out of his brain. “Fatalities eminent. . .”

“Yes, we are talking about Lt. Commander Sha’leyen.” T’Lal addressed them in standard. “Mr. Bergman, we were unaware of your knowledge of this dialect.”

“Let me guess, you didn’t want to say anything to Sarek using telepathy because you didn’t want me to accidentally overhear it?” Hand into a front jeans pocket, Joe found a piece of hard candy, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth. Neither the pilot or the ambassador replied. “Between Tralnor and my T’Kehr for my ulidar t’kefeh, I’ve picked up some of the language, well, more than some.”

“I thought that was just a regular tattoo.” Billie took Joe’s left arm and examined the inking. “Did you do the ceremony, like the whole thing?”

“I did the whole thing.” Joe held his limb so Kirk could clearly see the mark. “It took a total of four years to get it. When I decided I wanted it until. . .”

The light went out in Joe’s face. “I just put together something else that you were saying.”

“Do elaborate, Mr. Bergman.” Sarek said.

“Mem-lu til-kum was a term you brought up, Sir.” He let Sohja temper him as her hand moved and the backs of her slender fingers rested against the side of his neck. “Ancient Golic for, I’d say the most sensical translation in human understanding is _rituals of death_. You’re both afraid you’re going to lose your children.”


	98. Chapter 98

Hours passed and the decoding effort turned people’s brains into a slurry of frustration and incredulity. As it happened, the first translation only gave them more of the same code that needed further distilling. Four rounds of substitutions, objects in films, math equations, and word puzzles brought them to the fifth and final decipherment.

“You guys were being real twats when you invented this.” Billie stared at the promised last lines.

Joe was up and walking back and forth from the turbo lift door to the auxiliary science station. “Who wants to talk to Casey this time?”

That drew groans. Kirk volunteered. “I suppose I can try. She seems to think I’m easy on the eyes.”

“Can’t hurt. You can play to her and maybe she won’t break down in tears this time because I’m a rat bastard for denying her the babies she should have had by now.” Joe said. “God knows she won’t have anything to do with the girls. I mean, do I look like the kind of person who’s going to sleep with his best friend’s mother just to spite a film archivist?”

Jim had heard many stories about the travails of Hollywood and the entertainment industry and knew he’d rather get blown up by the Klingons than have to navigate that world. He thought, _Bergman, T’Lal would break you in half like a gingersnap if you tried to make a pass at her_ , and said, “Unlike Casey, you have a moral compass that you follow.”

“If she weren’t the only person in the world we could get this information from right now, I’d tell her to screw off and look things up myself.” Joe sat and put the last list of film references together. “But I’d have to be there in person.”

After three additional calls to Casey Strausser, Kirk understood completely why Bergman was incapable of going along to get along with this woman. Their non-relationship, as each call escalated the unadulterated jealous craziness from the failed filmmaker, gave Jim additional perspective into what Christine Chapel was like beneath her capable nurse front.

The captain went over a script in his head, trotting out some of the same diplomatic ass-kissing vernacular he used on the hostile peoples the Enterprise sometimes encountered. Plus, he had the advantage of being able to flirt and flatter his way with this one. He was confident that he could get Casey on and off the call in a quick, professional manner, and get the references they needed with minimal hysteria.

Strausser and her green hair knew she had to comply with Enterprise’s requests. She wasn’t so stupid as to draw Federation detention for refusing an order directly from the desk of Jennifer Cullen. What she’d decided though, skirting as close to the edge of compliance as possible, was to make them work for what wanted, placing undue emphasis on torturing Joe and being a total bitch to Sohja.

“Lucas School of Cinematic Arts Film Archive, how may I—” A befuddled young man, most likely an undergraduate work-study student, answered this time. “Um, let me go get my boss.”

“That’s a good idea.” Kirk said as the hold screen and music went up.

“She is trying to dodge us.” Sohja was seated on one of the steps leading down into the sunken section of the bridge. Kirk noticed her peep-toed shoes and emerald polish on her nails. She had a great schtick. As illogically dressed as she appeared to her fellow Vulcans, what she did worked like a charm in her career. “But, she does not have the intelligence necessary to avoid arrest and incarceration should she think she can walk away from this task.”

The main viewer flashed back to life. “Um, can I get your name?”

“Captain James T. Kirk.”

“Um, okay. I’ll be right back.” Hold screen.

“That kid is scared of her.” Billie’s voice was slightly muffled where she was faced into her station, running scans and consuming details about the Warp Accelerator’s installation. “I would be too if I was him.”

“Sometimes, the bogeyman is real.” Joe was back to his nervous wandering. “You know, I could really use a drink right now, something to help me unwind a little before I step back into the ring with a giant preying mantis.”

“You know that is not possible, Mr. Bergman.” Sarek, who’d remained eerily silent since Joe pointed out the parents’ worries about their children, let some concern into his voice.

“What happens if you have one for me?”

“ _No_ , Mr. Bergman.” The older man didn’t get that Joe was being facetious. Kirk couldn’t tell if it was a Vulcan thing or if Sarek was concerned for the twitchy human.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” White knuckles on the guardrail, Joe mumbled something that sounded like, _I hope you’re a smooth operator, Captain_.

“Um, Professor Strausser is on her way. She had some, um—” The kid got a good look at Sohja as she stood up to keep Joe calm enough to function.

“I wouldn’t if I was you, Todd. She’s a succubus.” Green hair, red eyes, Casey dismissed her student. “More movies for me, Joey?”

“I’m sending you our last list.” Kirk plastered on his best come-hither grin and hoped she took the bait. “You know, Casey, I’ve learned more about movies from you today than any other time in my life. I’m not an expert, of course, but you really seem to know your film history.”

A tick in her left cheek, she was thinking about him, if what he said was bullshit or not. “Well, you’re one of the few who’s taken notice.”

“I love history.” That list had better hurry up, he thought. “It tells a lot more about ourselves than we realize. Movies actually let us see fragments of the past, which is something books and art just can’t do.”

“Keep going.” Joe whispered. “She’s warming up to you.”

She acted like she was checking her messages and stopped everything. “What’s your favorite movie, Captain?”

 _Oh shit_. Kirk was someone who’d much rather curl up with a good book than watch a story play out on a screen. He appreciated movies as simple entertainment and did not consider himself a connoisseur of the medium. “Narrowing it down to a single title is difficult.”

Testing him, Casey asked, “Top three?”

Could he name three movies? “ _A New Hope, Bombshell Oleander_ , and. . . Give me a second. . . _Starlight Mint, Reconsidered_.”

“Eclectic taste for a very serious man.” She touched her hair. He had her. “Is there anything you want to know about those? I can tell you things about all three of those shows you’ll never hear anywhere else.”

 _I can’t fake this for much longer_ , he thought. Forcing a wider smile, Kirk said, “I’d love it if you’d just surprise me with something.”

“ _Starlight Mint_ got the name because the original working title was devised by the director’s wife. Right before the movie came out, he changed it because he didn’t want it associated with someone who’d divorced him three months before. He chose it when he was at a restaurant with one of his producers and decided that he wanted the gross mint candy that came with the check after he’d told the waiter he didn’t want it. Then they went back in and did a quick pick-up scene where the main character does the same thing.” Now there was a lock of obscene green twirling between her fingers. “It was supposed to be called _The Irate Latitudes_.”

“Amazing how things happen.” _Come on, lady. Check your damned messages_. Kirk, thoroughly tried, patience frayed, kept playing his part. “I don’t suppose my list arrived?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll take a peek.”

“That would be fantastic. We really didn’t want to take over your day like this. If President Cullen wouldn’t have my head for not figuring things out, I wouldn’t bother you with extra work.” He heard Billie coughing to stifle a laugh that nearly brought him out of his act. “We’re grateful for all that you’re doing.”

“That’s really nice of you to say.” Casey disentangled her fingers from her over-processed hair so she had both hands to manipulate her computer terminal. “In this business, when you’re important, like Joey, you always get what you want, what you need. People treat you well, especially when you’ve got the right connections. But, not all of us are former child actors who only get into film school because of knowing the right people.”

“I wasn’t aware of Mr. Bergman’s previous occupation.”

“He was a regular star, wasn’t he, Maeve?” From the way Casey’s hands moved, it was optimistic to guess that she’d started transferring Joe’s queries into whatever databases she used to organize the contents of her archive.

“No comment.” Buffalo Bill said.

Kirk needed to swoop in with a rescue before this devolved into another dribbling sob-fest. “This ship is coming back to earth for an extensive refit in under a year. I’ll be spending some time in debriefing down in San Francisco. What are the odds you and I could get together and you can show me around Hollywood? I’ve only ever been to LA for a short business meeting and all I got to see was the inside of a conference room. Maybe we could do dinner?”

“Over the years, I’ve been gracious to you Joey, I really have. I was willing to share everything that I am and could be with you. All you had to give me was a taste, a foot in the door. But no, I see Sohja come up in the credits of some of your films as an executive producer. How does a frozen plank of wood capture your attention when a real creative like me goes to waste?” She disassociated from Kirk.

“How long is it going to take for these frames?” Joe had to step in to divert her back to the job at hand.

Casey fixed a hard stare on Joe. “Are you still waiting for her?”

“I think you should take Jim up on his offer. He’s a great guy. You two will have a lot of fun together.” Joe tried to switch her back over to Kirk.

“Does she still keep you out of her bed, Joey? How does that make you feel when you know you always have a place in mine?”

Joe sighed. “Casey, you and I are never going to happen.”

“But you’ll wait for Sohja.” She rubbed at her eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for Sohja.” He capitulated.

“You’re voluntarily missing out on one of the best things life has to offer.”

“So what if I am?”

“ _Then you’re going to die a virgin_!” Casey wore her contempt for Joe on her face. “You heard me right everyone, Joey’s never gotten laid. He’s too spineless to just stick it in somewhere and get it over with even when he’s had repeated opportunities.”

“You’re just pissy that I want what I want and have the patience to bide my time for it.” Joe acted like he didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve got good taste and you’re not it, Casey.”

“You’re a sad case, Joey. You won’t even accept a pity fuck.” She was determined to get a rise from Bergman.

“I wouldn’t take you to bed if you were the last person in the universe. Just get us those frames.” Joe refused to buckle and purposely put an arm around Sohja.

Kirk looked to the human embracing his Vulcan friend, letting his gaze linger while he continued to ask what they did that made their relationship work?

“You might get lucky, Captain Kirk. Tinkerbell looks and acts like a coldhearted bitch, but she’ll fuck anything that moves.” Casey laughed to herself. “Except for Joey.”

  
  
  
When the requested information arrived and Captain Kirk shut down the call to earth, the bridge went silent of humanoid voices. All attention turned to Joe. Sohja expected to feel some kind of embarrassment or humiliation from him. Casey had struck a contentious blow for most human men.

“ _What_?” Joe addressed civilians and Starfleet alike. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for me or anything like that. So, I don’t fit all the Hollywood stereotypes. . . I’m not asexual, and it’s not like I don’t have any experience at all. Even I can say blow jobs are pretty amazing.”

“But you’ve _never_?” Lt. Churchill was fascinated and appalled by this man who, based on his status, money, and connections, could have anyone in his bed choosing to keep to himself.

“While we wait for Casey’s files to render, I’ll tell you this: Sex with other people in the industry ruins lives in Hollywood, it just does. I’ve been working in this field since I was two-and-a-half years old and landed my first toy commercial. Growing up in that place, you have to learn how to look out for yourself. I couldn’t afford to get caught up in any of the bullshit.

“When I was a baby, my grandparents started looking after me. My parents were in a car accident that killed my dad and my mother was in a special facility for people with severe spinal cord injuries. She would have been left to rot in a hellhole if not for the income I brought in as an actor. It’s not fair, that’s not how things should be, no child should have that kind of stress and responsibility heaped on them, but shit happens.

“I had to keep working so, I avoided most of the pitfalls that derail acting careers. By the time I was eighteen, I’d gotten into SC, and met people like Tralnor and Mollie, and second semester of freshman year, I set my sights on Sohja for the very first time. I decided that she was the one. . .”

“But you don’t want to?” Churchill followed-up with Sohja.

“It is not a simple matter of wanting.” Sohja said, glancing at T’Lal for backup.

“Sohja has a genetic variation where her subconscious mind amplifies the perception of sexual sensation, be it pleasure or pain. It can be an overwhelming experience for her partners.” T’Lal knew Sohja didn't have a readily understandable explanation for those not incredibly well-versed in mainstream Vulcan culture.

“I have asked you to do one thing, Joe.” Sohja stepped out of his arm and faced him.

“I can’t.” He said. “I’ve tried and I just can’t.”

“I would ruin you for any encounters you might have with someone else. Therefore, I cannot responsibly be your first.” She’d spoken these words before.

“Sohja, I’ve thought long and hard about this. For me, whatever damage is done, it’s worth it.”

“Then we remain at an impasse.” She cradled the left side of his face.

“I suppose so.” Joe grinned and moved back to the communications station. “Okay people, enough about where I may or may not have previously stuck my dick and swished it around. Let’s crack this code so we can fuck off out of here.”

  
  
  
“I need to step away for a moment. I’ll be back for the big reveal of what this thing says.” Casey’s low-brow attempt at shaming Joe had Jim thinking about one of the things Spock had said a while back, along the lines of people pitied and teased men who’d never had sex. Churchill thought Bergman was a freak and too many others would share that sentiment.

The captain escaped to his office, a close refuge where he could lock the door and have a moment’s privacy. He didn’t remain fixed on Joe’s physical state but followed the cascade of introspection the topic set off until something inside him unwound.

A realization crawled into Jim Kirk’s brain. He’d spent most of the day dealing with someone he found overly clingy, petty, and jealous. He thought she was pathetic, a sad example of humanity, someone who needed to stop obsessing over a man she couldn’t have. Spock’s face flashed through his mind, the Vulcan’s subtle expressions of dismay scorched into his memory.

 _Jimmy, all you’re missing is the green hair_.


	99. Chapter 99

“Don’t touch that!” Laura warned Veddah. “Clamp down on your psi. Shields, now.”

He withdrew his hand from an object he’d nearly picked up because he wanted a closer look at it. Round, about the size of an apple, cast or carved with an intricate relief, it appeared harmless to him. Given what they’d found on their hunt, Veddah knew better than to take his chances with a bauble. “You know what this is?”

She regarded the item, anxiety and fear trickling across her face. “Let’s slowly back out of here and move on.”

No questions, he did as she said, and they retreated from a building that at first glance was a generic office block. They walked the kilometer back to their vehicle.

“For the last several weeks, I’ve been attempting to break into the Golic Archives to try and find information on the box we’re looking for.” Laura started explaining after they got into the car and closed the world out. “I’ve managed to eke out a few bits and I think that thing back there was a zhal dukal.”

“What is a whisper ball?”

“Another torture device. It puts out a psionic signal that makes it sound like you’ve got a roomful of people whispering inside your head. From what I gleaned, before the security subroutines kicked me out, the noise and disturbance the zhal dukal creates is so disruptive that it will drop you to your knees. The longer it runs the crazier it makes you.” She picked through information on a data padd. “I didn’t get to see what sets it off, but touching it wouldn’t have been good for you.”

He silently agreed with her. “I do not understand hacking the archives. They are open to the public.”

“That’s a scrubbed and sanitized version that keeps all the embarrassing bits hidden away. It's fine if you’re a human school kid needing to write a three-page report on Vulcan history. If you want the undiluted truth, you’ve got to dig for it.”

“I do not like being lied to.” Veddah, in the time he’d known Laura, had learned more unsavory details about his home planet and people than he thought possible. “Even if those lies are sold as omissions.”

“It’s far more than omission. Its part of a carefully constructed front they show to the rest of the Federation. Even now, Vulcan is still trying to sweep all the little unsavory bits and pieces under the rug. That’s why we’re here. I want to find this box before they lock it in a vault.” She tucked the data padd beneath her seat and programmed their next stop into the car’s satnav. “It’s one thing if the Romulans are evil bastards who didn’t follow the path to enlightenment, but to admit you were once worse than they are now and that you have the capacity to backslide into that terrifying state. . .”

“We do not want to accept that possibility.” He certainly didn’t want to. “I know that I must accept it, as I have learned I am capable of great violence when someone threatens you. What you must think of me as yet another hypocritical member of my species.”

“It’s different with you, Veddah. You accept responsibility for your actions and acknowledge that you have weaknesses and an unpredictable streak. You work within your training to keep these in check, which all Vulcans should do, but you do it without the collective arrogance of your people.” Two fingers held out, she got a telepathic kiss from him.

He took a drink of tepid water from a canteen left on the center console. She put the car into drive and pointed them in a northwesterly direction, following on an ancient road that would deposit them on the outskirts of Administrative Settlement No.10. “Adun’a?”

“Yes, Husband?”

“You are the only human I have ever known who has not tried to goad or trick me into demonstrating my emotions. The only time you have said anything was during the rape when you told me it was okay for me to cry.” He took some deep breaths to stop his heart rate increasing and caught his mind before it dragged him down into a flashback.

“Those idiots who try to tease these things out of you haven’t spent any time around Vulcans. Without our bond, I could still read your emotional state. I know when Vulcans are happy or sad or proud or angry, and they really do wear their hearts on their sleeves, you just have to know what to look for.” Laura engaged the car’s hover mode to get them over a washed-out bridge. “Humans can’t fully understand the power your obscenely strong emotions can have over you, not unless they experience it for themselves. For me, it’s been quite the lesson.”

“I will work more on—” He searched for the right statement. “I do not want my emotional state to intrude on and disturb you.”

“It doesn’t, Veddah.”

“My controls need strengthening.”

“I think you’re doing pretty damned good considering the hell I’ve put you through. When we get away from this mess, we’ll get you to a healer so you’ve got the right kind of help. With our constant psionic connection, I know you can’t put your mind into the deepest part of the meditative trance right now because to get there you’ve got to move through some ugly memories. I see how it’s starting to wear you down.”

If he went too much longer without proper meditative self-care, he was going to shift into a state of neurotransmitter imbalance. Depending on how severe that alteration was, it could tear down his defenses entirely. “You ask if I am certain that I want to be your husband. I am curious, do you still want to be my wife should I start to go mad?”

“To quote the human vows, _I will have you in sickness and in health_.”

Some of his inadequacies placated, he thought he was ready for the next village and whatever nasty little surprises lay ahead.

  
  
  
_Message retrievable from 21/05/2268 to 10/06/2268. Located at Northern Pacific. Luggage locker 59632. Request key at courtesy counter in Concourse B. Ask for Ethan_.

“The hell they beller.” Dr. McCoy saw himself up to the bridge in response to a check-in showing the only edible goods that made their way into the mouths of Jim and the various visitors was coffee and pastries. After a run-down of the challenge to extract information from a despicable human, the doctor was disappointed the decoded message didn’t contain more. “What’s wrong with just telling us where they went?”

“The delicate nature of this mission prevents them from doing so. We will find a paper document in that locker.” T’Lal said.

“I’ve never known Vulcans to have a thing for paper. Seems too primitive for your technologically oriented sensibilities.” _In other words_ , McCoy thought, _I’m trying to figure out if you’re weirder than your son_.

“Paper letters do not leave traces on hard drives or networks.” It was a valid point from a security concern.

“And it will be written in the same code, I’m sure. This cloak and dagger stuff makes me crazy.” McCoy leaned against the guardrail. “At least we’ve got a place to go that’s not Starbase 21.”

“I’m with you there, Bones.” Jim was mildly excited to advance the plot.

“The real reason I came up here is to chase your motley asses down to the mess. All of you.” _This would be easier if I had a whip and a chair_. “No objections, just dinner.”

Buffalo Bill rounded up her two bridge officers and disappeared into the lift. The three Vulcans and Joe caught the next car. Their turn, McCoy and Kirk stepped into the conveyance.

“How are you holding up?” The captain’s lack of verbal response was disconcerting. McCoy followed with another inquiry. “You didn’t do something that got the ambassador’s panties in a wad, did you?”

“Not as far as I know.” Jim placed a hand against his throbbing temple. “Don’t tell me I fucked up some more.”

“I don’t know if it's just me reading human emotion into someone who doesn’t fit the mold, but I swear he was giving you one of those long stare-downs where it was like he was trying to figure out whether to let you drown or throw you a line.” A touch of mischief rolled across the doctor’s face. “It’s always hard to tell what those green devils are actually thinking.”

“He overheard me this morning when I was talking to Billie about Spock. He’s probably tossing the idea around that he’ll be seeing a lot more of me in the future.” Kirk tried to give his guess a positive spin. Any other approach was too close to reality.

“Optimistic of you.” McCoy didn’t want to point out that Sarek could not possibly be supportive of his son teaming up with such a maverick.

  
  
  
Veddah latched on to Laura’s consciousness and took her with him as far as he could descend into the meditative trance. She recognized this interval as the khol-svitan, an intermediate level not meant to tackle the stress and trauma he’d endured. She took stock of how his mind was organized and how far the carcinogenic shadows of fear, pain, and despair had eaten into his controls.

His condition reminded her of a flooded basement, only this one was full of alligators, sharks, and jellyfish. Unsure of the potential of her psionic abilities and lack of any training, she was stumped as to how to assist him. She wanted to help him build a dyke and restrict the darkness back into a place where it was accessible if needed but otherwise rendered toothless.

He brought her back to the present where he tried to block his shame that he couldn’t take care of his own needs. The depth and power of his feeling left him wilted. Veddah peered down into his lap.

“Is there anything I can do here and now?” She tried to come up with something else to say, an encouraging word, but knew it would come off as a cliched pop psychology soundbite.

His mouth twitched. “Do not leave me.”

“I’m not planning on it.” Laura had hoped to translate her concern into action. “Not at all.”

He nodded, breath hitching.

She had to get him to a Healer if it was the last thing she ever did.

  
  
  
Bergman and Buffalo Bill chattered and pulled faces at one another as they relived some of the days of their youth. Sohja would comment occasionally but otherwise paid no attention to their play. Goofing off beat what the cooks served.

“Bones, what is it?”

“She looked back at me.” McCoy, embarrassed he’d gotten caught mid-leer, faced into the center of the table he and Jim claimed.

“Junior high all over again?” Kirk peered at the group which was now joined by Joe’s minder. “Deja lunch, the feeling that you’re repeating the antics of school cafeterias past?”

Open-faced sloppy joe that tasted of scorched tomato paste went into McCoy’s mouth.

“Just so long as you don’t pull her hair and snap her bra straps in an infantile attempt to show you’re interested, I think she’d roll the dice on you.” Kirk derived entirely too much enjoyment from the doctor’s discomfort.

“Now, why would I want to act like you, Jim?” McCoy’s face retained the sour pucker from the flavor of his food.

“Go talk to her.”

“No.”

“Afraid?”

Had he been a schoolboy having this discussion with a buddy, McCoy might have retorted with a defensive nuh-uh! “You’ve spent the whole damned day with her. What do you think?”

“Yeah, I’d be scared too.”

“What’s she like?” McCoy shoved his tray away so he didn’t have to immediately see or smell the kitchens’ latest disaster.

Kirk drummed his fingers on the table, giving his thought eight beats. “An astute observer of human behavior, respectful of her elders, and a bit sarcastic.”

“Interesting. Unexpected, but interesting.”

“Joe Bergman is also head-over-heels for her.” Kirk transitioned from a kid ready to tear the house down into a melancholic man.

“I figured that out all on my own. Does that mean they’re together?”

A cutting laugh in reference to an inside joke McCoy didn’t get, Jim shook his head. “They’re friends. If I understood things, she’s got some telepathic disposition that will quite literally blow your mind when you hit the sack with her. She doesn’t want to be Joe’s first rodeo and burn out all his circuits. Anyone else is apparently fair game. So, friends.”

“That’s. . .” The doctor had no idea. “I don’t have to worry about some crazy guy in a Hawaiian shirt getting up in my face, do I?”

“No.” Still laughing, Jim began to turn red. “I don’t think he’s—”

A storm of laughter rumbled from the guest table, Captain Cody cackling as she tried to stand, Joe grabbed a handful of her tunic and tugged her down. “Damnit, Joe!”

Naughtiness on Joe’s mind, he said, “Get your buns back in your chair, Bill. I’m trying to tell you a joke.”

Sohja cocked a brow and canted her head. “To quote one of your favorite movie philosophers, _Do or do not, there is no try_.”

Howling merriment had the two humans clutching the edges of the table to keep from sliding under.

“Guess you had to be there?” McCoy said.

To which Kirk replied, “Guess so.”

  
  
  
Administrative Settlement No.10 was designed to warehouse toddlers and young children. If the policy was similar to Soviet gulags Laura read about in her history books, babies stayed with their mothers until they were weaned then placed in the creche until age nine or ten when they were old enough to start working. Gulag mothers got one hour a week with their children. Laura wondered if the Vulcan equivalent got any at all?

This was not a place of love, comfort, or nurturing. It was a holding tank of horrors. The only structures in the ghost village that didn’t have diminutive shackles or cages were an admin building and an overseer’s home. The rest of it. . .

Veddah stopped at the main entrance to the dormitory they were leaving and pointed to the ground. Laura scanned the floor, not finding what had caught his attention when a mental nudge put her on the right track. Charred into the baseboard was the partial imprint of a hand, one that would have belonged to a kid in nursery school. Instead of singing songs and making friends, this child met his end at the kill setting of a primitive disrupter.

Her mind, trying to shield her from this hellscape, wrapped her in a layer of cotton wool to dissociate. Bogged down, she couldn’t stumble forward on her own. That’s when she felt Veddah take her by the hand and escort her out into the sun.


	100. Chapter 100

No. 742 set down on a rise overlooking the dead city. They chose this place for their base camp because it was close enough to where they needed to look for the tavalik duv-tor that they didn’t create a burdensome commute to and from the site. Mostly, it was selected as being far enough away from their search target that Tralnor stood a chance of getting some rest between bouts of hyper-empathic harassment.

“It reminds me of Old Lyr Saan City.” Mollie said. “Almost like people could just walk back in and start their lives again.”

“Without the fallout radiation.” Tralnor had an instrument out that scanned for the invisible signs of nuclear warfare. “That’s a relief.”

The faintest traces of sulfur hung in the air, a reminder that this city had tapped into geothermal springs to power their lives. The view from this height showed the generic layout of Vulcan mass habitation. Tralnor saw nothing special about the place.

“Are you getting anything from it at this distance?” His sister was concerned that he’d not find any peace on this mission.

“I don’t feel anything coming at me, but that could change the longer we’re here.” A mental replay of his showing on Melbek III teased at how bad it could be. “Are Spock and Sha’leyen ready for us?”

A look over her shoulder told Mollie the two science officers were still engaged in conversation aboard the shuttle. “Not yet.”

“What do you think of Sha’leyen?” He valued Mollie’s judgement. She’d protested the loudest when he’d married Anya. He’d listen this time.

“She’s broken, just like you, and you’ll make one another whole again.”

He accepted that as an endorsement of his budding romance with his former bondmate. “But, do you like her?”

“Yeah, Tralnor, I do.” She treated him to a grin of approval. “One thing though, if she escaped to Vulcan when you were sixteen, why are you only now getting back together?”

“This isn’t anything she did wrong. At first, she needed time to heal from her ordeal at the hands of her husband. When she finally got the gumption to look me up, I was married to Anya Willis. She made the decision to not interfere in my life. Then, years later, you have a friend who’s posted to the same ship as Sha’leyen. . .” He thought Sha’leyen came to him right when he needed her after he’d had some distance and recovery from Amelie Grace’s violent death. “Things work out sometimes.”

They turned at the sound of the shuttle’s door mechanism. The era of pitching camp was upon them.

  
  
  
“Do you see what time it is?”

Sohja said to Joe, “I know what time it is, but I do not see it anywhere.”

She let him tell her she was a wiseass. It granted her some reprieve that he joked and smiled given the day they’d all had.

“We need to find the famous Rec Room 2 and pound the ivories.” He nodded to himself, approving of the plan. “Will you sing for us, Tinkerbell?”

“Perhaps.” She hadn’t presented her singing voice to the public in years, not since the last time she and Joe had gone to a karaoke bar.

Dr. McCoy kept popping his head up and staring her way. He was both besotted and terrified of her.

“Better hold off on that one until our Vulcan voodoo gig is over with.” Joe spoke in a low tone. “A ship with this many people on it can't be without their doctor while he recovers from a roll in the hay with you.”

“I am not reckless in the application of my attributes.”

“Which is why you and I are the way we are. That’s one of the reasons I have so much respect for you.” Joe gave the doctor a smile and a double thumbs-up.

  
  
  
Night Music started on cue like the progenitor of the event was not off on some presidentially-mandated mission. Joe, self-professed shit piano player, did fairly well as an accompanist for Billie’s singing. It was when the two old friends gave their audience a duet that some of the crew started making noise about the act seeming familiar.

Captain Cody had Joe stand up. “Would it fill in the blanks if we were wearing purple and had red hair?”

“Oh, no way.” Someone said. “It’s the Peregrine twins.”

“You were Ava and Andy on that space station show.” A member of her own crew pointed out, dazzled by his realization. “I loved that show when I was a kid.”

“ _Pluto’s Garden_.” Joe said. “It ran for eight years and is still in reruns and home video queues, probably until the end of time.”

“And there’s tangible proof that some child actors can grow up and become productive adults. I can’t vouch for Joe.” She said.

Bergman laughed. “Ha-ha, Bill.”

“Are your names now changed so you could blend back into society?” Billie’s crewman wanted to know.

“You might recognize my stage name, Alexander Joseph Berg. She went by Kellie M. Trent. Bill was smart and quit the business not long after _Pluto’s Garden_ wrapped and I’ve mostly gone behind the camera and reverted to my given name.” Joe reinstalled himself at the piano. “Our first gig together was the chicken and stars soup commercial when we were three years old.”

“The director was getting pissed at Joe because he wouldn’t eat the soup until they brought him a bowl without the chicken in it.”

“I had a pet Rhode Island Red at the time and absolutely refused to eat my Birdie-girl. There’s an ancient saying in Hollywood about never working with kids or animals. In my case, I think that director made sure to never again work with kids who had animals either.”

Joe played the opening notes of _Bridge Over Troubled Water_. That brought Sohja to the front of the room where she and Billie did a two-part rendition of the old standard.

Kirk and McCoy were in their standard spot taking in the spectacle. The doctor spoke quietly, “Explains a lot about the both of them.”

“Explains what?” Jim wasn’t following.

“Child actors, they’re basically trained seals barking and clapping for a bucket of fish heads. You want to talk about child abuse?” McCoy was disturbed that anyone would put their kids through the stamp mill that was the entertainment industry. “My ex-wife wanted to audition Joanna for some stupid local ad campaign. She still hasn’t forgiven me for putting the kibosh on that racket.”

“We’ve lost the parents.” Jim surveyed the room. Sarek and T’Lal had gone. “Keep me posted if anything good happens here. I’m going to try and find them.”

“Probably not a good idea, Jim. They didn’t much look like they were up for visiting when we all came in here.”

“I might be able to get something out of them if no one else is around to hear what they’ve got to say.” He walked off and left the doctor to listen to the music and drool over Sohja.

  
  
  
Kirk liked to think his hearing was acute, maybe even better than the average human’s. Moving through the guest quarters area, he searched for the more familiar voice of the Vulcans he sought. His ear was not hitting on the ambassador’s sonorous tones. Fruitless minutes passed and he decided to bag his plan.

“Captain Kirk?” Sarek said from behind the captain.

_Why do you people have to be so damned quiet_? Kirk, irritated, asked, “Ambassador, what can I do for you this evening?”

He made a U-turn so he could see the older man and not have to deal with the feeling that someone was breathing down his neck. _You don’t like me much, do you, Sarek_?

“I want to offer you some advice, Kirk.”

Jim looked around, if he could catch T’Lal too. . .

“It is to your highest advantage that you abandon your pursuit of my son. You may remain his coworker, perhaps his friend, do not impress yourself into his personal life.” Sarek’s tone was purposely cold, designed to discourage. “You will live to regret it.”

Never one to easily take being told what to do, Jim bristled. “Is it too much for your fragile sensibilities that Spock might be happy with another man? I know it isn’t logical, but life is seldom lived linearly.”

Left brow ticked up by millimeters, Sarek was not amused as Spock might have been at Kirk’s swipe at Vulcan rigidity. “You cannot be trusted to properly undertake the full responsibilities of a bonding—”

“If this is about what led up to the wedding debacle that you couldn’t be bothered to attend, I’m as far from freaked out by _biology_ as someone can get.” Jim lifted a corner of his mouth.

“I do not speak of intercourse between two bodies, Kirk. I am talking about the instability of your mind. Spock should not have to suffer for your disfunction.”

“It’s because I’m human.” He would not openly call the ambassador out on his own hypocrisy.

“When the time comes, Spock will marry Mallia Ah’delvna. Your opinion on the matter is not welcome.” The old tyrant turned and walked away.

  
  
  
“ _Out loud_?” Billie recoiled at Jim’s description of his run-in with the Vulcan.

“He said it to my face.” He was two hours post-dressing-down and was still furious. If Billie hadn’t been concerned when he didn’t return to Rec Room 2, he’d be fuming and drinking alone.

“That’s one hell of a development. I wonder if Spock and Mollie know what’s in store for them?”

“If they know? They’ve planned this for years, Billie.” He finally shucked his tunic and kicked off his boots.

“Um, no.” She shook her head, clumps of blond obscuring her eyes now that her hair was down. “It’s like this, just because you and I fucked last night doesn’t mean we want to marry one another.”

“What’s true about us doesn’t mean anything for them. If Sarek says Mollie is going to be Spock’s wife, then it's done and dusted.” He leaned against a bulkhead, taking great restraint in not busting up his knuckles again.

“Kuznetsov will be here soon and we’ll all three of us try to hash this out. Sarek’s a stubborn so-and-so, but even his mind can be changed when presented with evidence contrary to his hypothesis.” She came up beside him, set a hand on his shoulder, and said, “When he knows you better, that will make a huge difference.”

“You think so?”

“Before he was a diplomat, he was a scientist. He needs proof and you’ll give it to him. Case solved.” She pressed her torso into his. “But for now, let’s focus on unwinding from all the insanity of the day.”

  
  
  
The little girl knelt on the replica Portuguese tiles of the screened-in sun porch just off the kitchen. Crossed feet tucked beneath her backside, she hummed a song she’d learned from the program she watched every morning. Today, she was fixing her dolly’s hair, determined to untangle the unruly mop and pluck out the bits of tape, stickers, and lawn debris mixed in with the rats nests.

Adult voices echoed in the background. Her mother shouting at her daddy was so common that these incidents were almost white noise in the girl’s daily life. The silver comb in her hand gleamed in the sun, the leaves and roses relief decorating it didn’t give her the added grip she needed to get it through the snarled artificial fibers. She tugged and pulled, getting nowhere near her goal, and determined she needed to ask her daddy for help.

On her feet, she made for the kitchen. Daddy took her tangled hair and made it smooth and silky. She was sure he’d have the magic touch to do the same for her dolly. At the threshold, ready to set into the house, she stopped as her mother picked up a ceramic dish and slammed it the floor, sharp shards of china and sugar cubes shot off in all directions.

Startled, the child dropped the silver comb.

“You thieving bitch!” Her mother charged at her, ripping her dolly out of her arms and swiping the comb off the ground.

“I told you I didn’t touch your stupid comb and I sure as fuck didn’t sell it.” Daddy hollered.

“And I told you to keep your toy away from my dressing table.” Mother stepped on the pedal that opened the trash can, unceremoniously dropped the dolly in, and started the compaction cycle.

“She’s not even four, Tatyana. Kids go looking for stuff.” He tried to stand up for the girl.

“My baby.” The girl pointed at the groaning machine.

“She doesn’t go looking in my things. Do. You. Understand?” Mother tucked the silver comb in her pocket.

“My baby.” She repeated and stepped into the house proper, trying to cross to the compactor, where she could retrieve her dolly. Her determination crashed when shards of the sugar dish dug into the soles of her bare feet.

“For fuck’s sake, Alfie.” Mother roared while the little girl cried and bled, crimson streaking the white marble tiles. “Clean it up!”

Upset over the loss of her dolly, pain shooting up her legs, the sight of her own blood, the girl got louder, only serving to upset Mother more. “ _I want my baby_!”

Daddy grabbed a wet dishrag and started wiping at the floor. “I’ll buy you another doll, a better one, just shut up.”

Snotty and crimson-faced, she descended into full pre-schooler meltdown. She lost touch with her surroundings for a moment, only cognizant of the yelling going on above her when the heavy odor of damp coffee grounds and old onions gave her some focus. Dumped into her lap, head caved in, limbs mangled, one brilliant blue glass eye crushed, was the remains of her dolly. Somehow, the screams elevated in pitch and urgency.

“Here’s your fucking baby. Now, shut up you little shit.” Mother said before telling her husband to pack up the girl and get her out of the house for the rest of the day.

“Okay, okay, Tatyana. I’ll take her.” Daddy still hadn’t tended to the child’s cut feet, like he didn’t know what to do for her.

“No, I will take her.” A third adult voice entered the scene. Young, male, and tall enough that his shadow covered the girl when he stood behind her on the porch, she had no idea where he’d come from. Warm, strong arms scooped her up from the floor and held on tight.

A deep intake of breath, she opened her eyes. California a distant dark memory, started to fade from the front of her mind. She looked up to Veddah, still sleeping, where he was barely visible in the burgeoning light of dawn.


	101. Chapter 101

“Now would be the perfect time to tell a dick joke, but I’d hate to come off as being cocky.” Joe left Buffalo Bill with those words of wisdom as she took a seat with Kirk and McCoy and he settled in with Sohja and T’Lal.

“Is that appropriate discussion for breakfast?” Sohja sensed Joe’s tensions had built since yesterday.

“What I’d really like some Irish in my coffee this morning, but that’s not on the menu. So, my terrific sense of humor and narrative stylings are the best substitute I can come up with.” He took a bite of coagulated oatmeal. “Ugh, I’d rather eat a dick than whatever this is.”

“I am sending both of you over to Starbase 21 while I assist to finish the hardware installation so that we may have some semi-palatable foodstuff that is not peanut butter and jam on toast.” T’Lal’s plate looked hauntingly familiar. “Though none of us share my son’s physiological inability to digest animal flesh, I am tiring of finding bacon bits and chicken broth in supposedly vegetarian dishes.”

“I still refuse to eat my Birdie-girl.” Joe said. “We appreciate this one last chance to get out and walk around before the heavy lifting begins.”

The conversation shifted into Golic at a level where Joe could barely hear. T’Lal was telling Sohja she had to act as Sarek’s aide in some video messages and live comms in the next couple of days. Part of their shopping trip now included trying to find acceptable clothing for Sohja to play the part. She only dressed traditionally for the most formal of occasions, if that. Sohja was to her anachronistic, culturally-appropriated wardrobe as Joe was to his aloha shirts and blue jeans.

“Keep him out of the bars, Sohja.” T’Lal routed Joe before he even thought about sneaking away to imbibe.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Sohja said as Joe scoffed.

“I got it. I swear I won’t abscond from my minder and go hide in an alley with a bottle of rotgut. I’ll tell you the same thing I said to the ambassador, I’m not an addict.” He wasn’t indignant, more feeling let down because no one else appeared to trust him to rein in his impulses.

“Give me your hand, Mr. Bergman.” T’Lal held hers out. “This will not work if you alter your brain chemistry with outside compounds.”

“Uh, oh. What won’t work?” His mind tried to reach out to Sohja, crashing into a wall made of his inability to consciously focus that part of himself and manipulate it at his bidding.

“A temporary block that will stop you wanting alcohol or drugs.” T’Lal did not come off as judgmental. “This will further stabilize you until we are done with our mission.”

“You really don’t trust me, do you?” He was not known as an untrustworthy person. The idea that others might think of him in that way was off-putting. He didn’t mind taking flack for being a Hollywood jerk, he was used to that, but even the people who thought he was a rat bastard still found him competent enough to not get slobbering drunk at the drop of a hat.

“I believe in your honesty and restraint.”

“Then let me reaffirm that belief, T’Lal. I promise to lay off the sauce and the speed until I’m given the all-clear to return to my hedonistic ways. I know you’re skeptical because I’m human.” He put his hands on his lap. “But, you were there yesterday when Casey was informing everyone that I’ve never gotten my dick wet. I have the most beautiful people in the quadrant constantly hurling themselves at me in hopes that I run a casting couch. If I can indefinitely delay that kind of pleasure and satisfaction, don’t you think I can do that for other things?”

T’Lal retracted her hand.

  
  
  
“ _You’re not my fucking lawyer_.” Kevin Radovitch sneered at Sohja. She’d not planned on meeting the necrophile, but her drive to know what motivated him made Starbase 21’s detention center the first stop on her and Joe’s shopping trip.

While Joe was reading a book out in the lobby, Sohja sat across from this criminal. “I am not an attorney.”

“No shit. I never would have guessed that based on the clown clothes you’re wearing.” Radovitch, petulant by nature, elaborated on how unimpressive he found her. “You look like the logic train ran you down before it passed you by.”

“I am Dr. Sohja t’Gef-zehl, Companies House Administrator.” She liberated her government employee ID and held it out where he could see it. He might have thought she was joking until he got a good look at her credentials.

“What is it?” Radovitch’s complexion adopted a chalky tone. “Stop staring at me. It’s creepy.”

She focused her gaze where he was forced to avert his eyes to avoid her inspection.

“Seriously, what the fuck are you here for?”

“You do not have to answer any questions or respond to any statements without your counsel. Do you need to consult a lawyer?” She let him think this was an official inquiry, something separate from the grave robbing, but not divulging enough detail to let him know that he’d gotten caught for industrial espionage.

“I can take care of my own damned self.” Knuckles lightly rapped on the scratch and dent-proof composite table. “All I need to know from you, Companies House, is when I’ll get my money in this merger. Then I’ll have the cash to keep Ollie Schultz on my case and I can get the hell out of here.”

“I have been in contact with board members and they are not granting access to timetables.” She didn’t allude to his confirmation of theories about selling out Rado-lite to Violet Crest.

“You can tell Pinky to get his ass in gear before I wind up rotting in prison because a couple of dumb fucking anthropologists are lying about me.” Radovitch shuffled his feet and clicked his tongue.

She’d figure out who this Pinky was later. “In my preliminary examination of this acquisition, none of the previous four years’ worth of quarterly documents from the Rado-lite Company mention you, Mr. Radovitch. I am here to see if you are to be consulted at all during the merger process.”

His temporal-mandibular joints ground and popped as he collected his thoughts. “Yeah, that’s because I’m on the VC side of things these days.”

“Indeed?”

“Dear old dad is getting what’s owed to him.”

  
  
  
Commander Blaedel stuttered through his introduction to Sohja. He finally addressed her tits and welcomed her into the lair of Enterprise’s legal eagles.

“This is the other source I’ve been telling you about, Serj.” Kirk got the commander to look up.

“Yes, of course. Sohja is the one you can name. I wish you’d give me the contact information on the one who’s in touch with Ensign Radovitch’s defense.” Blaedel accepted the paper file Jim and Sohja had recently finished reviewing. He flipped through a few pages, lip curling in disgust the deeper he got into it. “This, this is brilliant. That little sicko is completely screwed.”

The captain took his usual seat, opposite the lawyers. Shohja settled in the chair to his direct left. Today, she was wearing purple and powder blue which gave her hazel eyes a greener tone than before.

Lt. Dresden joined the effort to get Sohja deposed. Voice and video recordings were to be retained in triplicate. When the Vulcan started her story, she began with the time she’d spent on Trego Delta and the abuse she endured, Kirk’s thoughts went to one person. Where Sohja plainly did not care a single fuck what people thought of her, she also had places where she felt like she belonged. Spock lacked her calculated inability to give a shit. It wasn’t because he was human. His family was conditioned from birth to be hypersensitive about their social standing and public perception. Jim would say Spock was more vulnerable to negative reactions since he rarely had anyone or anywhere to turn to.

She detailed how she was drawn into the Radovitch investigation and that her professional credentials put her in the opportune place to gather important data. The longer she talked, the more Kirk wanted to drag her off to some quiet corner so he could pick her brain about how to remedy things with Spock.

“Are we keeping you from something, Captain?” Lt. Dresden wondered why he was squirming.

“No, I’m fine right here. Everyone is down in engineering and the last thing they need is an extra body in the way.” Kirk consulted the wall chronometer. “We’ll be done before they bring the chambers back on-line and I’ve got to be on the bridge.”

“I went over to the starbase this morning where I briefly spoke to Radovitch.” That statement took everyone’s minds off where Kirk wanted to be.

“Did he say anything?” Carolina Dresden was both irritated and envious that Sohja had the balls to walk into the jail and request an audience with this pervert.

“We can’t get him to cop to so much as farting in a lift while aboard this ship.” Blaedel became sheepish, not thinking someone of Sohja’s ilk would find that funny, let alone applicable to the situation. “If you’ll pardon the language, Dr. t’Gef-zehl.”

“Mr. Blaedel, Radovitch is a sick motherfucker who believes in committing revenge against his father by selling him out to his corporate enemy.” Eyes widened at her use of such a colorful word. “If you will pardon the language.”

Kirk almost laughed. Again, part of her schtick, like the clothes, she said what she did to keep Blaedel and Dresden from clamming up and losing momentum. After repeating her conversation with the jailbird and asking if they needed anything else from her, she crossed her right leg over her left. As this visual distracted Kirk’s lizard brain, he had to know what the movement was about. Well below where the lawyers could see, she had her hand out toward him, palm up.

This had to be one of the chances he was looking for, where she’d share her secrets to relationship harmony. He placed his palm across hers and let her hot fingers rattle his nerves.

(I have heard you, James.) Still fully engaged with Blaedel and Dresden, she showed zero indication of participating in two separate conversations. (I may share some of my experiences with you. The caveat is this, I cannot claim that Spock will welcome you back into his life even as you secure more knowledge.)

He squeezed her hand, letting her know he understood.

(You will find it advantageous to talk to Joe. His approach to Vulcans differs greatly from yours.) She loosened from his grip and answered something posed by Blaedel.

  
  
  
“There are some dead cities on Belon almost exactly like this one.” Sha’leyen said as she set her coffee down on the map table. She turned off one of the battery-powered lanterns as dawn gave them extra light through the walls of the tent they’d set up as lab and administrative space. “I know we originally spoke of going directly to the Northwestern quadrant to begin our search, but I think we should make sure no one hid this thing in a desk drawer or in a cupboard in a bedsit. We are positioned here, along the Southeastern edge, where the most densely packed residences are.”

“This will take the longest to search.” Tralnor said. “So it’s probably to our advantage to start with the tedious stuff first.”

Sha’leyen got out a pencil, a ruler, and a copy of that quadrant of the city map. She divided it into quarters and cut them out. “We’re still heading out as teams of two. When we finish searching a structure, we’ll black it out on the quadrant map before moving on to the next place. That’s our quick and dirty tally. Precise details of specific rooms and buildings go into data padds and tricorders.”

“That’s agreeable.” Mollie, who only had a glancing familiarity with archaeology, picked up one of the quarters. “I had thought about sub-gridding the four sections but decided since we are not here as part of a scientific inquiry that we do not need to go into such detail. If we find our box, knowing the building it came from is good enough since the location information is going to be hidden or destroyed by those who oversee these artifact hunts.” While Sha’leyen had the experience and background to plot out this search, she was not the one T’Pau asked to spearhead the operation. “Mr. Spock, what say you?”

The first officer lifted his eyes from the complete map. “If that is what you think we should do, we will do it.”

  
  
  
Going through the living quarters of the average people who once lived and worked in this place was a bit too voyeuristic for Spock’s tastes. He preferred his scientific pursuits to be more divorced from the intimacy of people’s private lives. He was glad to leave the archaeology to those of Sha’leyen’s mettle.

Tralnor opened a closet containing the remains of some long-dead woman’s work wardrobe. The organic elements in the cloth and findings disintegrated some thousand-plus years ago, leaving behind the acrylic and metallic components. “Almost looks like spiderwebs.”

Spock tried to remain detached from what they were seeing. A top drawer revealed a stack of parchment documents. Parted in the middle to make sure nothing was hidden amongst them, the first line of a letter began with _For My Beloved Wife_. . .

“They were evacuated so quickly no one had time to run home to collect their belongings.” Tralnor peered beneath the bed. “This whole city is thick with the confusion of people not knowing why they’re being moved or where they’re going.”

A cabinet revealed a book printed in the Administrator Script. Spock handled it carefully lest it crumble. _On the Operation and Administration of Prison No.0492_ , once it proved it wasn’t going to turn to dust if breathed on too hard, went into his carryall bag.


	102. Chapter 102

“No, Scooby, you don’t get what I’m saying. If you pull out of that project, you’re done working for my production company. I’m sick of you acting like you can prance in and out of this shit like you’re the fucking tooth fairy.” Joe sounded cranky and tired. Jim stood off to the side, out of sight, waiting for the producer to wrap up his call. “If you don’t want to deal with Sohja while I’m out of town because you think she’s a scary bitch, then I’ll make your decision for you. Don’t ever darken my door again.”

Kirk stayed back, not sure if he even wanted to bother Joe right now.

“I know you’re there, Captain Jim.” Joe remained facing into Tralnor’s desk.

“Look, you sound like you’re busy. I’ll come by again later.” Kirk said.

Bergman sighed. “Naw, you’re here. Scoob’s fucked off to wherever his kind congregate. I can use a few minutes between all the damned calls I’ve got to make. What can I do for you?”

“Do you mind if we take this somewhere private?” Kirk wasn’t quite comfortable having this discussion with a man he barely knew, so the last thing he needed was random crew members dropping in to use Rec Room 2 at the same time.

Joe logged out of Tralnor’s terminal. “After you, Sir.”

Lack of any better place to take him, Kirk escorted Joe to his quarters. He was in the liquor cabinet before the door closed behind his guest. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Nope. I promised Sarek and T’Lal I’d stay dry, but thanks for the offer.” Joe, in another surprise, made for the bookshelf and started reading titles. “And don’t put it away on my account. If you want one, have one. It’s your house after all.”

Pouring himself a glass of whatever bottle of wine Kusnetzov left last night, Kirk tried not to chug the alcohol.

“ _Band of Brothers_ is an excellent book.” Joe commented. “I haven’t read Herodotus in ages. I’ll have to scare up a copy of _The Histories_ while I’m on Vulcan.”

The perfect in, Jim seized it, “It’s Vulcans I wanted to talk to you about.”

Joe left the bookshelf and got comfortable. “I figured as much. I don’t know that I can enlighten you. I’m but a loudmouthed jackass who fell into an amazing group of friends, some of whom just happened to not be human.”

“So you also heard me yesterday when I was talking to Billie?” He’d not wanted to broach the romance angle, not this early on. He had a friendship to save first.

“Don’t know the first thing about what you two were on about and Captain Bill didn’t tell me.” Joe plucked another hard candy from some random pocket. “The night your nurse flipped out on us when we showed the Kaylara and Dolonn wedding in _Celluloid Vokaya_ , I noticed you getting a bit prickly. Then, when all was said and it was reiterated that Vulcans love their kids, Mollie and I talked that and some related things.”

Joe reacted to Kirk’s soured expression and the captain realized he’d made a face at the mention of Mallia Ah’delevna. “Go on.”

“Well, she said you were the person Spock had waited his whole life for.”

  
  
  
Mollie asked to pair up with Sha’leyen for at least the first couple of days. Where Tralnor had done some internship work for the Old Lyr Saan City conservancy and received exposure and rudimentary training in archaeological field methods, Mollie’s experience amounted to a handful of primary school field trips to museums and dig sites where there was far more observing than hands-on work.

“This person was Belonite.” Sha’leyen pointed to a piece of faded art on the wall bearing a slogan from her planet of origin. “I’m guessing he was married to a Vulcan, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Toys in the corner of the sitting room caught Mollie’s attention. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

What Mollie wanted to understand was Sha’leyen’s process of barely stepping foot into someone’s home and reading the habitation so quickly. The Lt. Commander’s law enforcement training was evident, more-so than her anthropology background at this point.

“One, the saying on the wall, _From the Mists of Port Trevelo, Only the Strongest Rise_ , is the Belonite equivalent of the _Nolo Me Tangere_ from so many human family crests. Two, on the console below that, is a pair of large faceted crystals, often given out as wedding gifts by the groom’s family. Three, next to the crystals, is the stone heart of Ny’one, a traditional gift from the Vulcan bride’s family that wasn’t popular on Belon around the time this city was alive, but it wasn’t unheard of for Belonites to give them.”

“And we haven’t gotten more than a meter into the room. I’d hate to think of all the things I’d miss if I were doing this alone.” Mollie advanced into the home, getting a closer look at the wedding gifts. The crystals were beautiful, semi-translucent, sky-blue with iridescent streaks. Ny’one’s heart, a carved and polished piece of granite was overlaid with an incantation to the fertility god, asking that the newlyweds be blessed with an abundance of new life. “I’ve seen one of these hearts before at the ShiKahr Historical Museum. It was part of a display that just said the things in the case were remnants of our polytheistic past.”

“How _very Golic_ of them.”

“I thought it might have been a collection of votive offerings found at ancient temples.” Mollie thought back to that specific museum visit. “But I was only eight at the time and didn’t know it could be any different.”

They started looking in, under, and around things. Like the previous residences they’d examined, all they got was a glimpse into ordinary life some two-millennia ago. This home belonged to a run-of-the-mill family. These were the people who weren’t involved in the hands-on bending and breaking of the actual prisoners. Sarek and T’Lal had educated Mollie on the depravity of these gulags and she had truly feared going out into the camp itself, not wanting to bear posthumous witness to the worst Vulcan had to offer.

“I’m not sure, but I think I found something.” Mollie, in the first of the two bedrooms, called over to the next room where Sha’leyen was flipping the children’s mattresses.

“What is—” Sha’leyen stopped talking and gripped Mollie by the shoulder. “Go out to the front room. I’ll take care of this.”

Returned to the sitting room, she squatted to look at some toys. There was nothing resembling the playthings of her childhood except for something that she initially thought was an approximation of an animal. Picking it up, she discovered it had limbs and a face, only its terribly messy hair made it seem non-humanoid. Dark hair pulled out of its light brown eyes, it had olive skin and delicately pointed ears. Once, a long time ago, Vulcan kids played with dolls.

“I had a doll just like that when I was small.” Sha’leyen came into the room, holding out the black orb Mollie found. “This, I did not.”

When Mollie came across the round object, it was glowing purple. “You can tell me what you’re holding?”

“It’s an ulinar vi’planik, a little Belonite spy camera. Found where it was in the master bedroom, it could be full of homemade porn.”

“I was worried it might explode or something like that.”

“If you don’t know how to handle these. . .” Sha’leyen placed her fingers in a particular way. A swift click was all the warning the device gave before metal spikes popped out of it. “They’ll remove bits of your flesh.”

“ _Oh, shit_.” Mollie said. “I wouldn’t have picked it up or anything, but that’s scary.”

Sha’leyen shrugged. “We’re barely scratching the surface of the surprises and booby traps of this era.”

Another flip of her fingers and the needles retracted. Sha’leyen set the orb on the console next to the crystals.

“Would it be wrong if I kept this?” Mollie said of the doll.

“I doubt Minister of the Interior Land Whale will want to confiscate it. Unless it’s hollow and full of gold dust, it holds no value.”

They returned to their search, finding nothing of note the rest of the day.

  
  
  
Laura didn’t have a need to go deeper into the meditative trance than a light mid-level. In her independent studies of Vulcan mind-training methods, she’d found the sweet spot where emotions, reaction, and level-headedness smoothed over in a place that was of no use to Veddah. Her feelings, her human affectivity, and the control she had over that part of her mental state was, to him, quite literally child’s play.

For his sake, she made an attempt to thread further into the Beyond State. Maybe she could take him closer to where he needed to be? Upon her descent, she rubbed along their bond, letting Veddah know what she was doing. She pictured it like laying back on a black velvet blanket that curled around her as an invisible wire drew taut from the center of her spine and pulled her down through her mental strata.

Her lofty trajectory halted against a barrier her mind saw as supple. She chose not to push through. Studying books could only take her so far. Without proper instruction from a knowledgable teacher, she didn’t have the leeway to press her luck, not when Veddah needed her.

She’d hit on a fluid calm of a like she’d never experienced. Her comfort with this interior harbor expanded and her imagined velvet wrapping and tow line faded until her perceived physical self dissolved, thus abandoning the constant input from her corporeal nervous system. She remained placid, without shape, pain, or hunger, her internal clock ticking off the minutes. When a quarter of an hour passed, she’d gather her mind and body back together and return to the hellscape of Pezig’s Gate.

Thirteen minutes and she detected something strange, something Vulcan, on the edges of her tranquility. Laura observed a fluttering streak of cobalt peeking into her downy velvet darkness. Given precisely where in the galaxy she was, she questioned if this thing vying for her attention was alive?

Contemplation of her visitor ended abruptly. She felt a heavy hand capture her, center mass, and drag her back to the surface. Her eyes opened to Veddah, fingertips affixed to her cheek.

( _Do not scare me like that_.) He said, withdrawing his hand.

She blinked, unable to get the blue light out of her head. (What was that thing?)

(You are not prepared for such solo meditative journeys.) He couldn’t quite capture her attention.

(I know it wasn’t you down there. You never come to me as bright cobalt.)

(Do not do this for my sake, Adun’a. Your raw psionic abilities leave you open to attack when you enter certain mental states.) He held her head so she had to look him in the eye. (If you get lost or trapped and I cannot pull you back again—)

Engaged with what he was saying, she felt like an idiot. (I was trying to help.)

He let go of her. (An admirable quality, though I implore that you are most helpful to me here, in this realm.)

Their hands found one another’s of their own accord.

(As it stands, your mind has a stabilizing influence on my own. It is what we have until we can get proper medical attention.) Veddah let those words have their full impact.

She promised to hold off on any more experimentation.

  
  
  
His second glass of wine was gone before he realized he’d finished the first. Kirk stopped before picking up the bottle a third time. “How do I learn more about them if Spock shoots me down nearly every time I ask him a question? I’ve had to accept that he’s not the type who parts with that kind of information. That’s what’s led to some of our biggest disconnects. How can I do things right if he refuses to tell me?”

Was Joe, crazy, loud, unapologetically obnoxious Joe cringing at him? Kirk had half a mind to tell the guy to get lost and he’d talk to Sohja later. “I feel like I’m trying to do brain surgery with a pocket knife and a weekend first aid course as my only training.”

“Because you kind of are.” Joe’s animated face let the captain know the man in the flowered shirt refused to buy any of the excuses offered up for examination. “You want to know how to learn this shit, you’ve got to ask the right questions.”

“Don’t you think I’ve been doing that?”

“Well, it doesn’t look like it. If you were, you wouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark trying to pull your head out of your ass.” Joe raised his brow, challenging Kirk to dispute what he just said. “You obviously like to read. Have you read _Seeking Proper Points from Leadership Figures_ by Vangorta and Sotan?”

“Never heard of it.” Kirk was still trying to smooth his ruffled feathers.

“Then get a copy. Hell, get two, one to keep on your nightstand and another for the throne room. Read it every chance you get until it sinks in.”

Skeptical, Kirk asked, “What’s it about?”

“It’s how Vulcan kids learn the basics of proper inquiry.” Joe said. “You’ve got to ask the right questions in the right order for the maximum return of information.”

“So what you’re telling me is that Spock is stiffing me because I don’t know how to play along with the little game he was taught as a boy? Ridiculous.” Of course, it would be something stupid, trivial, and nothing Kirk could ever have known about.

“ _Woah_. I don’t know how you jumped to that conclusion, but that’s _not_ what I said.” Joe twiddled his thumbs, waiting for Kirk to say something intelligent this time.

“Are you sure you’re friends with Spock?” Kirk didn’t want to believe that his proper, buttoned-down first officer could count someone like Joe as a friend. Tralnor, sure, he had a similar background. Billie made sense, she was a scientist too. Sohja was Vulcan. Mollie was. . . he wouldn’t visit that right now, but Joe?

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re not just _acquaintances_ from university days?”

“We’re not in one another’s back pockets, but we honestly stay in fairly regular contact. He’s out here, so it’s not like he’s at all the Trojan alumni mixers and a Homecoming regular. We write letters, old-fashioned, slow as hell, paper fuckin’ letters. We talk about books.” Joe’s thumbs stopped and he pressed his hands into his lap. “The last one we went in-depth on was _Murder on the Orient Express_.”

“What?” That sounded not like the Spock Kirk knew at all.

“We alternate who picks a book and then we talk about it. He chose the Christie. He wanted to explore themes on the deceptions humans feed to one another and themselves.”

Kirk sat, back to the liquor cabinet, and was once again forced to reckon with the idea that he didn’t know the man he loved as much as he thought. “Agatha Christie. . .”

“Okay, James, you’re one of those gung-ho guys who jumps into shit with both feet. That’s fine, that’s great, and you’ve got the charisma that folks will follow you into the fray. People like you are what people like me make great movies about. You’re the stuff of legends.” Joe stated this as fact, not as some smarmy way of mocking and blowing smoke up Kirk’s ass. “Even legends need to slow down and follow instruction manuals sometimes.”

“You’re a strange bird, Bergman.”

“Yep.” Joe nodded. “And my advice to you is if you want what you see between Tinkerbell and me, you’ve got to slow the fuck down.”

“And ask the right questions.”

“Ask the right fucking questions.”

“So, besides that book you recommended, where do I start?”


	103. Chapter 103

Avery held his breath during the countdown. While nothing should go wrong with the simple power-up of the new Advanced Aerospace systems, he was a bundle of nerves. When Lt. Commander Q’pik gave the order to flip the proverbial switch, Avery exhaled and stared at his console, monitoring for stray energy output just outside the matter/anti-matter containment module.

Ideally, his board would read zero throughout this entire test with absolutely no movement from the needles on any of the nine parameter gauges he was tasked with watching. As he performed this task, his mind went to the pile of non-disclosure agreements he and the rest of Enterprise’s engineers signed. This stuck in his craw, not because he thought it was bullshit, just that everything he’d seen in the previous few days was paradigm-shifting. He was desperate to call one of his old Cornell professors, a retired Starfleet engineer, so they could communally geek out over the fun new toys Wild West Show brought with them.

The guys who’d gotten territorial and started the fight. . . Avery didn’t understand why they’d gotten so pissy. He was excited to learn something new and Starfleet innovation had inherent dangers. He wanted to be on the cutting edge, that’s why he took his professor’s advice and entered Officer Candidate School. Why get defensive when you could be doing something amazing?

“Lt. Avery, readings?” Q’pik called out.

“We’re staying nice and cold, Sir. Zeroes straight across the board.” He continued to scrutinize the gauges. If he didn’t know better, he might think they were broken. Smooth sailing, he liked that.

“Pardon, Mr. Avery.” Lt. Commander Scott sidled up to him. “You’re needed in sick bay.”

Suddenly terrified, more-so than if there was a containment breach and eminent chamber explosion, Avery tensed up. “Sarah’s okay, isn’t she?”

“I wish I could tell you, lad. All I know is Dr. McCoy asked that you go up there.” The concern in his boss’ face was one of the reasons he wanted to keep working for Scotty. The chief engineer cared for his guys and his ship.

“What about?” Avery pointed at his board.

“Off with you. I’ll keep an eye on things down here.” Avery gave a curt nod and stepped out of Scotty’s way.

  
  
  
A sense of normalcy came to Kirk as the propulsion systems went back online and the natural thrum of the ship returned. He tried his best to follow the back and forth between Billie and her people, staying on top of what was happening, but he was trapped in the recent past, still hashing out the words he’d had with Joe Bergman.

He’d learned a few points on the cause of asking the right questions. Joe explained that humans tended toward Big Finish questions, aiming straight for the heart of a matter, and expected the top prize because they had the brass balls to ask in the first place. If that tactic failed, they’d try other questions in descending order of importance, trying to tease their way back to that Big Finish inquiry. That approach, the filmmaker informed Kirk, was almost guaranteed to shut Vulcans down cold. Depending on the question, even the open and affable Lyr Saan zipped their lips.

Like learning to outline the rough draft of a paper, Vulcans had specific sets of criteria they followed when seeking information. It was all very logical, of course. Kirk had a hard time believing that Spock would hold him to the standards of his father’s people in this regard. _If I need to know things, why won’t you tell me, Spock_? _Why are you making this so fucking hard_?

“Earth to Jimmy.” Billie seemed to materialize in front of him. “You awake?”

“Yeah, I’m. . .” Lost, hopeless, stranded, fighting myself, he thought. He looked up, gave a grin she wouldn’t buy, and said, “What can I do you for, Buffalo Bill?”

  
  
  
Interim Charge Nurse Joan Patel intercepted Avery once he arrived in sick bay. “Doctor McCoy needs to speak to you in his office.”

“How’s Sarah?” He didn’t want to talk to the damned doctor.

“Lt. Seltun is in talking to her right now.”

“I’ve got to see her.” He tried to turn toward the private patient cubicles, Patel heading him off again.

“She’s fine, Lt. Avery. Nothing to worry about there.” She got him to the office.

The CMO motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat, son.”

Why did this feel like being called the principal’s office? “Yes, Sir.”

“I asked Lt. Seltun this and he didn’t know. He suggested that I try you. That block of information Tralnor’s momma got out of Lt. David, is the process of that jarring enough to create the kind of trauma that sends someone into a coma?” McCoy, hardbitten and worried over his patient, was desperate to find out.

“Um. . .” Avery sifted through his brain on anything he’d learned regarding Vulcan psionics. His knowledge was strictly limited to what he experienced as one of Tralnor’s students. As a psi-null, he had less to say on the subject than even Seltun would. “Until we learned Dr. Tralnor left a memory bolus in Sarah, I’d never heard of such a thing. I’m sorry, Dr. McCoy.”

“Don’t be. I was just hoping to get it out of you instead of having to pin down T’Lal. Captain Cody has kept her off-limits all afternoon.”

“Nurse Patel said Sarah is doing fine?” He was raging to get back there and see his friend.

“You don’t happen to know any other choice tidbits about our green-blooded friends?” McCoy was more suspicious than Avery had ever seen him. “They’re not exactly fountains of information unless they’re painted into corners of rooms they can’t climb the walls of.”

Where was this heading? “I don’t know, Sir. I suppose that depends on what you want to know.”

The doctor drew his lips back, flattening them against one another, as he contemplated. “Nevermind, Lt. Avery. Sarah’s been wanting to see you since she woke up. Best never to keep a lady waiting.”

After telling her he was over the moon that she was going to be okay, Avery asked Sarah what she remembered of the previous couple of days. Seltun got up to leave them. “Might be best if you hung around, Krampus.”

“What’s wrong, Alton?” She balked.

After indulging his need to look to see that they weren’t being overheard, at just above a whisper, he said, “I think Nurse Chapel tried to kill you.”

  
  
  
People walked into bulkheads, stumbled into one another, dropped tools, and forgot what they were doing. Sohja picked up the distant sound of Buffalo Bill saying, “The world is coming down around our ears all the sudden, Q’pik. Sohja must be here.”

Her first sojourn into engineering aboard any vessel, Sohja was more taken with the exotic landscape than the personnel inhabiting it. She followed the resonance of her friend’s voice and arrived in the right place. “You wished to speak to me, Captain Cody?”

Buffalo Bill held out an arm and scooped her fingers, letting Sohja know she needed to follow. Out of engineering proper, they entered a room that the Vulcan would have called a doss if it was anywhere not aboard a Starfleet ship. Manky cots, broken chairs, dusty console housings, and cannibalized equipment, the only thing missing to complete the scene were strung out dope addicts.

“I’m not sure where to start with this, Sohja.” Buffalo Bill started to pace the room when her boot landed on a metal chunk of something. A sound of irritation emanated from her and she kicked it away to have it ricochet off a baseboard and plant itself at her left toe. “Fuck it.”

Deciding she didn’t want to roll an ankle or break a wrist in a fall, the captain sat in a tippy chair pulled up to an empty wire spool. Sohja mimicked her. “What is so urgent that you have interrupted your work to get me down here, Maeve?”

“Jim Kirk.” Buffalo Bill said his name like speaking it too loud might break him.

“He is not showing any significant sign of improvement.” Sohja’s observation of Enterprise’s captain lead her to think that he’d not followed her advice and contacted the Samaritans or anyone else who could be of help.

“Huh? Improvement?”

She talked about her one quasi-personal discussion with Kirk. “Did he behave this way when you were his lover?”

“No, absolutely not. He was respectful, nonjudgmental, and kindhearted.” Buffalo Bill gave herself a few seconds to order her words. “Jealous, mean-spirited, and petty, that’s not the man I know.”

“You were with him in the lead-up to his taking command of this ship, correct?”

“Right. We met when I was doing what I’d been up to for years, going from ship-to-ship and studying workplace stress levels. We had a good thing, gave it a year-and-a-half until we had to accept that long-distance was untenable for us. It wasn’t an ugly breakup either.” She stared off to the side, thinking, then said, “When we learned he was getting command of the Enterprise, I was happy for him, especially because I knew he’d be in good hands with someone like Spock to watch over him. If I’d had any idea what was coming. . .”

Sohja ignored that last comment. Human speculation on the realm of what-might-have-been was a self-indulgent pastime that accomplished nothing. “Do you find it unusual that James developed a romantic attraction to Spock?”

“That’s one of the things I’m getting lost on. He was always of the type who’d try anything once, incredibly open-minded, listened to both sides of issues, very fair. So, to see him fall for someone like Spock, it fits his character. Where things start to get hazy is when the Vulcan part of the equation kicks in.”

“Elaborate.”

“Jimmy will, in the lead up to meeting with the leadership of say, a Hoblian Nest, do some research and learn all he can on that particular family, customs, cultural cues, that sort of thing. He doesn’t accuse them of being barbarians because they systematically engage in arranged marriages.” Buffalo Bill made it easy to piece together some of the issues James had with Vulcan practices. “We talked about bondings and betrothals last night. He wouldn’t let go of the subject. Needless to say, he’s not a fan of how you do things.”

“I fail to see how arranged marriage is barbaric. In certain extant human cultures, parents and grandparents still find spouses for their children.” Sohja tried to follow Kirk’s line of thought. How had he drawn such a stark conclusion?

“Yesterday, Sarek not-so-nicely informed Jimmy that Spock was going to marry Mollie and that, quote, his opinion was not wanted.”

Like tripping over an unseen obstacle, Sohja got a shock. “Mollie has agreed to this?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have heard no such announcement through the greater Clan Surak. The engagement of such a high profile member of the clan would be newsworthy. That Spock is to marry a Lyr Saan, that is more notable than when his father announced he was marrying Lady Amanda.” The way Vulcan gossip worked, if this so-called engagement had any merit, she would know about it.

“Jimmy is murderously jealous of Mollie. No amount of demonstrating how she and Spock are not boyfriend/girlfriend is getting through to him. He doesn’t want to understand that particular relationship dynamic because he doesn’t believe it’s possible. I tried to use you and Joe as an example and he said since you’re not having sex that it’s not the same.”

“You are going to ask me to speak to him.” Sohja knew that was inevitable as soon as Buffalo Bill brought up the topic.

“Would you, please? Maybe hearing the Vulcan perspective on how all this works will cool him down. He’s mad at the universe right now and maybe with a few less things he has to worry about he can let go a little bit.” The captain didn’t know what else to do for her old friend.

“He has not responded to my past attempt at counseling. Is it worth the time to entertain an audience with him?” Sohja added the personal issues into the assortment of pressures his job placed on him.

“It is to me.” Buffalo Bill almost reached over and patted the back of Sohja’s hand. “He’s worth saving, Sohja.”

“I would never think the contrary.”

“Thank you for doing this. He might not appreciate us riding his ass about these things, but it’ll come together in the end.” Buffalo Bill looked the floor over so she didn’t step on more clutter. “I’ve got to get back out there. My guys are probably wondering where I went.”

  
  
  
While the work went on around him, Kirk looked up the book Joe insisted he study and learned it was required reading for many of the Federation’s first-year law students and that it showed up on a lot of lower-division syllabi for university science and philosophy courses. Interestingly, Starfleet Academy didn’t have _Seeking Proper Points from Leadership Figures_ as a text for any of the current classes.

He was scrolling through an excerpt, trying to make sense of it, and felt his irritation at the entire situation flare. Other people who were in love, they let it happen, no one needing a _Robert’s Rules_ sort of flow chart to figure out what the next steps were.

 _And Joe_ , Kirk wondered, _how does a red-blooded human male like Bergman buy into this Vulcan protocol bullshit_? Why did the guy think Spock’s way of approaching a relationship was the right way?

“Captain T’Lal, you have the bridge.” Fuck, he didn’t know if that was his order to give. Did it matter at that point?

“Yes, Captain.” She said, not moving to the center seat as he left.

Fuming all the way down to Rec Room 2, he prepared to lay into the movie-maker. He strode into the gathering space with the purpose of dragging Joe away from the desk and having a real conversation, none of this abandonment of Kirk’s human identity to please a man who was half-human.

 _Oh_! Jim’s mind sprang. _Do it the Vulcan way because Spock hates his human self_!

Joe wasn’t working at Tralnor’s desk.

“Su-lak i’lasha.” Sarek said, finishing a chess move that took one of Joe’s pawns off the second level of the board. “Kuvayalar t’vu, Mr. Bergman.”

Joe reacted like he’d been caught unawares by a snap of static electricity. “We should probably finish our match later, Sir.”

“Of course. Shall we continue after Night Music?” Spock’s father refused to acknowledge Kirk, though who knew what he’d said to Bergman?

Joe grinned to try and cut the tension. “If I’m not passed out on the piano keyboard by then.”

The two humans waited until Sarek was long out of sight before Jim made it to the table. “Let me guess, he was telling you what an asshole I am?”

A quick puff of air through his nose and Joe said, “Pretty much. _The one who trivializes relationships is here now_ , is the direct translation. Then he ended it by basically wishing me good luck in my dealings with you.”

“Luck? Seriously?” Kirk didn’t know who to be more pissed at, Joe or Sarek. “I swear, Spock has told me no less than a million fucking times that Vulcans don’t do luck.”

“I don’t know quite how to explain the why of saying it other than it’s meant to be sort of funny in a sarcastic way.” Joe wasn’t comfortable with the game between them and switched chairs so they weren’t cut-off.

“Well, I don’t find it funny.”

“Vulcan humor is—I don’t want to get into it. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I want to know this, Bergman.” He wasn’t going to pretend to be nice this time. He’d hit this fellow human with a Big Finish question and keep peppering him until a comprehensible answer came out. “Why did you think your advice from earlier was going to help me? I’m not dealing with a case of unrequited love like you are—”

“That’s where I’m going to stop you.” The aura of perpetual whimsy Joe had about him dried up and vanished, a learned, serious man emerged, one who wasn’t going to put up with Jim Kirk’s bullshit. “Sohja and I, that’s not unrequited.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Heat bottled up under the collar of Jim’s tunic.

“Our relationship is _unconsummated_ , which is not the same.”

Kirk’s head felt like the spinning bottle in a party game. “This is asinine. You two give off the vibe of an epic romance, nothing is happening on that front because she refuses to sleep with you, and you keep pining away. _Unrequited_ love.”

“Shaming me because I haven’t fucked her doesn’t change the definition of the word. I love her. She loves me. We’re open about it and have had multiple mental and verbal exchanges on the subject. We also know how to talk about it so no one is confused about the status of our association because we know how to ask the right questions of one another. Again, unconsummated, not unrequited.”

Discomposed, Kirk was at a loss. “So what, I should try and act like you? You come off as human but have all of this secret knowledge about these people and the best you can do is second base. I love Spock, we love one another, but if you’re thinking I’m going to settle for anything less than what we deserve because it follows their arbitrary rules—”

“I’ve got shit to do and you’ve got shit to think about.” Joe got to his feet and returned to Tralnor’s desk.


	104. Chapter 104

Vedda woke to a clacking noise he couldn’t identify until he rolled over and saw Laura’s teeth chattering. Her face, shiny with sweat, was pale with whatever illness had hit her. He touched her shoulder to wake her, discovering her elevated body temperature.

When he opened the tent, he observed the rain he’d heard falling most of the night. Steeling himself against the cold and damp, he retrieved the first aid kit from their vehicle. She was conscious when he returned and all he wanted was to tell her to go back to sleep.

“What is it, Veddah?” She sat up and pointed at the medical bag.

“On your pillow.” That was all he could bring out.

Laura looked back and down on her left side. Great clumps of her long blond hair were adhered to the pillow instead of attached to her head.

  
  
  
Captains and first officers from Enterprise, Wild West Show, and Dragon gathered in a plain room over on the starbase. Kuznetsov and Cosgriff were stumped as to why they had seats at this table. Kirk wanted to hurry the fuck up.

“We’re taking our leave of Starbase 21 in T-minus eighteen hours.” Billie announced. “So, recall any of your personnel who are on leave and close enough to get their asses back on board.”

“That’s fine for you, Enterprise.” Kuznetsov placed her hands on the table. “We’re—”

“You’re our chase plane, Lyudmila.” Captain Cody grinned. “I’ve had the orders transferred to you and we’ll have a private debrief tonight.”

“Command let you do that?” Kuznetsov brightened.

“Well, they didn’t let me. Advanced Aero made them.” A thumbs up from Billie.

“Dragon has experienced multiple resignations and transfers. We were told not to expect replacements until Melbek III was squared away.” Commander Cosgriff said. “The holes in our roster mean we don’t have enough bodies to operate within safety parameters.”

“What do you need? Jimmy and I will loan you some of our people.”

“I’ll have to consult my records.” Cosgriff already started on a mental checklist. “You’ll have a request within thirty minutes of us getting out of here.”

“Are you letting us in on the secret or are we trailing after to relay to HQ where the debris field is?” Kuznetsov asked in her blunt Russian style.

“The answer to that is yes.”

Jim was unsure if Billie was keeping information away from him and Mr. Scott or if she didn’t want to disclose something to Cosgriff. Either way, he was ready to put on his dancing shoes and do a jig. His silver lady was no longer being hidden in a corner.

  
  
  
“Let’s you and I stick around here for a minute, Jimmy.” Billie kept him hemmed away from the exit.

“Okay.” He went back to the conference table and leaned back in one of the chairs. “Is this about personnel recommendations for Dragon? I know they need a good pair on the helm. Sulu and Chekov have got that down. It’ll be nice for them to get a breath of fresh air.”

“I wish this was work-related.” She looked at the door. “You are one of the few people I’ve ever known to have truly pissed off Joe Bergman. You’ve really got to work at it and damned if you didn’t pull it off.”

_Crybaby_ , Jim thought. “I’m sure whatever it is he’s just being oversensitive.”

“He doesn’t describe someone as an _ethnocentric chauvinist_ because they hurted his fee-fees.”

“What did that bastard call me?” Kirk’s eyes went into a squint. “Next time he can say it to my face. Dumbass”

“So you’re a bully now, is that it?” Arms crossed, she stayed standing. “Someone tells you something you don’t want to hear and they’re an oversensitive dumbass. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“I don’t have to listen to this shit.” He got up from the chair.

“Sit the fuck down.” She got right into his personal space. “Now.”

“You can’t—” Righteous indignation on his side, he was sick to fucking death of everyone else’s opinion of his romance with Spock.

Not intimidated, Billie poked her finger into his chest. “ _I am in command of the Enterprise right now_. If you want her back when this is done, you will sit down and follow what I have to say.”

  
  
  
Fever-stricken and throwing up everything she attempted to keep down, Laura had Veddah drive. He wanted to abandon their mission, try their escape some other time, and take her to Doc Hoskins. _We can’t go back to that ship_ , she repeated probably a dozen times.

“Is your life not more important than breaking from your crew at this moment?” Rubber wiper blades sluiced rain off the windscreen, making the mottled light appear to ripple on Veddah’s face.

She pulled both their jackets tighter around her torso. How was it possible to be overheated and freezing at the same time? “Sweetness is death, Veddah.”

“Let me return you to Sandia. We can resume our search when you are well.” That sounded so rational.

“It’s too much of a risk that someone else will beat us to our goal and that equals death.” Body wracked by aches and spasms, she had to try not to drool from the foul metallic taste in her mouth. She struggled to open the med kit, half dumping it into the footwell in the process.

“If you die out here—”

“You still have a chance.” She liberated an anti-motion sickness patch from its sterile bubble and slapped it on her neck. The first one hadn’t done a thing, but two might have an impact. “We keep going, no matter what.”

  
  
  
Floored by Billie’s overstep, some minuscule part of his brain cognizant of the full impact of her words, Kirk returned to his chair. He closed his mouth, unwilling to tempt her into actually taking his ship away.

“What happened to you, Jimmy?” Her concern coursed over anything he might misinterpret as her deliberately sabotaging him. “Where is the man I fell in love with just a few years ago?”

_Bully, bully, bully_. Green haired Casey. Petulant child. Nogura’s target. Love lusted for, love lost, love he didn’t want to work at. _Pathetic human being_. He closed his eyes, avoiding Billie’s disappointment. “That man is in hiding.”

“He’d better get his ass front and center.” She said as she answered a knock on the conference room door.

“Yeah, he better.” Kirk whispered for his own benefit.

Three people entered the room, Joe Bergman, Sohja, and T’Lal. Billie closed the door and came up to Kirk. “Jimmy, will you let T’Lal into your mind? She can set you up with the tools and structure to break out of this spiral you’re stuck in.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Kirk was quick to head this suggestion off. He barely knew T’Lal and didn’t relish the thought of a stranger rummaging around inside his skull. “Dr. McCoy probably wouldn’t—”

The door opened again, admitting Leonard McCoy. “It’s not a suggestion, Jim. The medications aren’t working. You haven’t been able to talk it out. You’re like a dog staked in the back garden who winds his lead around a post to the point where he’s choking himself. You’re going to strangle to death before you figure out how to disentangle your chain.”

He might have blown Bones off as overly involved, a long-suffering mother hen, but the way his friend described Kirk’s dysfunction. . . Kirk said of Billie, “So you brought your pilot to dig through my brain after running the plan by McCoy?”

“No, Jim.” Bones cut in. “It was my idea.”

Unsure if he should be angry or relieved, he said, “What happens if I say no?”

Haunted expression on his face, the doctor’s grim regard touched Kirk. “I’ll be admitting you to the inpatient psychiatric treatment ward here on Starbase 21.”

“Today, James.” Sohja said.

“You can’t just gang up on me like this.” Kirk wondered if he’d crossed over into another dimension.

“You do not realize it, but you are on the absolute cusp of destruction. The only questions that remain are how many innocent people will you kill when you take yourself out or how soon until we fish your corpse out of the Thames?” Sohja deferred back to Dr. McCoy.

“Now’s not the time to be acting like a cantankerous mule, Jim.” Bones’ attempt at lightening the mood crashed and burned. “You’re going to get some help right now or you’re not leaving with us in the morning.”

  
  
  
T’Lal described it as a temporary patch, sandbags to hold off rising waters, wherein he’d have more time to get his shit figured out. She had him sit on the floor with her like children playing a game of patty-cake. Sohja and Joe flanked her for reasons Kirk did not want to investigate.

“If you would prefer, I do not have to touch you to initiate this meld.” T’Lal’s psionic abilities, like her son’s, were somewhere in the stratosphere.

“I think I’d rather you put your hand on my face. It’s what I’m familiar with.” Jim closed his eyes before her fingers made contact.

Where melds with Spock were laced with the true thoughts and feelings of his friend, this intersection of minds was cold with purpose. There was no rummaging. T’Lal knew where and what she wanted and how to penetrate the weak defenses Jim instinctually tossed up.

Another difference with T’Lal, he swore the physical pressure inside his head was increasing. He had a light awareness of the sound from a medical tricorder. No words registered in his mind or ears, but he felt the mild vibration of the Vulcan’s words.

_What is this strangeness_? He thought he was asking a rhetorical question of himself.

(It is partially a manual reset of your brain’s production of neurotransmitters, the goal being a return to your baseline normal as Dr. McCoy has shown me from your records.)

_Factory settings_? He felt his ears pop and drain as she manipulated something.

(Tell me if I cause you too much discomfort.)

_Don’t have to worry about that_. Kirk’s nervous system tingled. A sensation he could only equate to pulling the drawstring on a purse enveloped the front of his head.

She asked mundane questions. What he told her was irrelevant compared to how the infrastructure and chemicals of his brain responded. Bones kept on with the tricorder. _Please let this work_ , Kirk thought.

Minutes or hours, any sense of time dashed, the stress inside his calvarium dialed down. The transition from a strictly medical procedure to something a little more personable happened in the span of a few heartbeats. What he knew from traversing Spock’s mind was far more applicable in the new space T’Lal took them to.

(Sohja and Joseph have agreed to share this with you.) Like taking the hand of a blindfolded subject and placing it into a mystery box, she took Jim and set him just inside the boundaries of the current link between Joe and Sohja. What he paid the closest attention to were their emotions. Strong as those feelings were, he didn’t find the frenetic obsession and lashing out he knew from his own mind.

For Joe, his love was such that he accepted her unwillingness to take their relationship to the next level because he both understood the reasoning behind her decision and that he’d rather have her as a part of his life in this less passionate manner than not at all. On Sohja’s side, Kirk got a taste for the fear she harbored of irreparably harming Joe. She loved him enough to stand by her decision to not consummate their relationship. She’d rather keep Joe as her friend than a wounded lover. Mutual respect and boundaries based on open communication and exchange of feelings, this was what Joe tried to demonstrate as the difference between unrequited and unconsummated love.

Neither of them harbored the resentment Kirk was drowning in when it came to Sohja’s ongoing sexual entanglements with other people. Joe consciously chose not to take issue. She didn’t push him into sleeping with someone before taking him to bed. Their accord brought to light, Kirk appreciated the example of how they valued one another and what they did to accentuate their regard. Unfettered by unfulfillable expectations, they shined.

  
  
  
T’Lal laid Jim out on the floor, placing him in the recovery position, as she dissolved the meld. “He will need a few minutes to regain consciousness.”

McCoy, who’d not shut off the tricorder in the previous two hours, kept monitoring. “I’ll be damned. It’s holding.”

“This should be good for approximately six months at which time it is highly inadvisable that he undergo this procedure again. He is not a psion and as such his brain does not have the same type of plasticity. He will have to be transitioned to a medication and/or psionically-guided biofeedback regime should he be incapable of holding onto these changes.” She got up from the floor. “Are you aware that he suffered an extraordinary trauma as a child? I do not know what it was, but it affected his brain development and how it perceives threats, fear, and mortality.”

The doctor nodded. “Yeah. He, ah, _survived_ Tarsus IV.”

Tralnor’s mother blinked heavily. “That he is this well-adjusted speaks of his resolve.”

“He doesn’t talk about it. . .” McCoy didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t come off as making excuses for Jim’s shitty behavior as of late.

“Understandable. The accounts of what happened there are notorious.” The aviator wings of her tunic’s insignia glinted in the light. “He is coming back around.”

Ten more seconds passed before Kirk’s eyes opened. “Bones, how long was I out?”

“Four, five minutes.” McCoy noticed his friend’s coloring improved.

“I feel like I’ve had the most relaxing sleep of my life, like a solid eight hours.” Chipper, Kirk sat up. “My head feels pretty good.”

“All right, back to the Enterprise.” Captain Cody instructed. “All of us.”


	105. Chapter 105

Misery, thy name was rain.

Pezig’s Gate suffered inclement weather that was described in the tourist literature as minor occasional showers in the summer season. The copy not approved for visitors was probably where the statistics on the number of days that qualified for severe storm warnings.

“It’s no wonder they left without looking back. More than a couple of days like this a year and I’d want off this rock too.” Tralnor said as he and Spock observed the city from six stories up. While the windows on the north and west walls of the former gymnasium space kept the rain out, the Vulcan architecture wasn’t designed to insulate against the cold. “At least they knew how to make good drainage.”

Not in a talkative mood, Spock nodded and made toward a stack of storage boxes. Damp and chilled, he rubbed his hands to get enough circulation into his fingers to maneuver the boxes and their contents. First lid removed, he knew there was nothing of interest in this container. The paperwork and physical evidence from cases brought against prisoners already incarcerated was disturbing.

Where he and Tralnor knew the tavalik duv-tor was not in one of these boxes, they decided to skim the files, seeking out mention of the evil item. They wanted to see if they’d hit pay dirt and discover their prize locked in one of the vaults on the first floor where more dangerous fodder than clubs, knives, and forced confessions rotted in a staging area.

Two hours of sifting through the documents of people long gone, finding nothing, Spock stepped away from the hoard and returned to the window. He tried to visualize what this planet looked like when Vulcan ruled. When no ideas brought the dead cityscape to life, he realized he did not want to know this place as it once was.

Thoughts interrupted by the sound of stacked boxes tipping and sliding to the floor, he caught Tralnor throwing something into the far shadows.

“Son of a bitch!” Tralnor griped.

“Are you injured?” Spock got to Tralnor, visual assessment showing the younger man appeared fine.

“I accidentally touched an artifact and saw. . . Made Laura’s mass-murdering adventure on Melbek III seem mild.” Tralnor rubbed his hands on his thighs, subconsciously attempting to scrape off the psychic residue.

“Laura and mild are not associated in my mind.” Spock said.

“I don’t even know what I chucked out. Volatile, whatever it was.” He straightened to his full height. “I can conclusively say that some of those imprisoned here were rightfully incarcerated.”

“You did not answer my question, Tralnor.”

“It’s okay.” He closed his eyes for a few seconds, taking a self-inventory. “Just a shock is all. I’ll shake it off.”

Spock could conclusively say that Tralnor was not a good liar.

  
  
  
“It’s a case of food poisoning, Silvio.” Why was she trying to reason with this idiot? “I’m not dying, I’m dehydrated.”

“Please, come home Captain.” Silvio moaned. “You don’t need to be sick and camping in the rain.”

Cool, damp cloth wiped over her forehead, Laura said, “You do your job and let me finish mine.”

“Laura, come on. Whatever it is you and that fuck doll are looking for, it’s going to be there when you’ve recovered.” He gave off genuine concern for her well-being. “You look like shit.”

“You might think I’m on a leisure quest, Silvio, but I don’t have the luxury of taking a break.” She might have to slow down as IV fluids were in her near future if she couldn’t stop vomiting.

“I think you’ve been poisoned alright, and it’s not salmonella.” His face adopted a mean glower. “If that thing you’re dragging around with you is doing this, he’ll live just long enough to regret it.”

“Give it a rest. I’m authorizing the transfer of three more days of docking fees.” This was taking a lot longer than she thought it would and being sick had nothing to do with it. The sheer amount of wreckage she and Veddah had to comb through was more than she could possibly have known.

“You said you’d be back in a week.”

“I said we shouldn’t be gone more than a week. I didn’t give a concrete timetable. I have to find this object.” She felt Veddah leaning on her through their bond, agreeing with Silvio that she needed to go back to the ship.

“Whatever you’re looking for that you think you can’t live without, you can live without it, Laura.”

She tried to respond. Upon opening her mouth, she started heaving, great cramping spasms that only served to bring up bile.

“That’s it. I’m coming to get you.” He deigned to get his ass up from her chair.

“You do that, Silvio.” She coughed out between horks. “You’re fired.”

“Laura, be reasonable. You need a doctor.”

“I need a nap and not to be nagged at by an incompetent moron.” She didn’t sign off. Conversation over, her ship paid up for another week beyond what she’d told Silvio, she fell asleep in the passenger seat, not hearing what Veddah was asking.

  
  
  
After his brush with that carbuncle of pain and hatred he’d hurled off into the darkened corners, Tralnor stopped looking inside the boxes and went to putting his palm against the outside, using his over-the-top empathic abilities to read what was in them. Anything of interest, Spock was the one who opened the box and handled the objects inside.

While this collection in no way represented everyone who was imprisoned on Pezig’s Gate at the time the prison closed, it was a good enough sample to determine the makeup of the population. Some ten percent were violent criminals, another twenty or so were scammers, cons, and white-collar felons. Almost seventy percent of the people were political prisoners, their only transgression that they didn’t think the way their contemporary regime did. For the murderous and sadistic element who needed to be locked away from the world, this place was a bountiful playground of easy prey.

“Tralnor, you are not well. We should get you back to camp.”

“I’ll be okay, Spock.” And he would, eventually, after he got the hell off this planet and spent a few days working on his mental state. “I hope the girls are faring better than we are today. This place is another dead end.”

“Will you return with me, right now?” That Spock was worried clued Tralnor in on what a wreck he must look like right then.

Disinterested in arguing the merits of continuing their search, hours of daylight ahead of them, he agreed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The walk out, rain pelting them, distracted from the remnants of the horror show they’d spent their day wallowing in. Whether psychically felt or details read from documents, he and Spock got more information than they wanted about the previous incarnation of Pezig’s Gate. What Spock didn’t get, fortunate as he was to not manifest such powerful empathic skills, was the mentality of some of the staff out in the camp, settlement administrators who delighted in torturing their charges, guards turned accomplices, overseers who looked the other way. Tralnor was a crater of tumult.

They bundled themselves up in the shuttle when they made it back. Making good use of the environmental controls, they took advantage of this capsule, sealed off from the elements, and treated themselves to some dry heat.

“Maybe when we’re done with this, we can head off to Palm Springs for a few days?” Tralnor wasn’t serious about California, but knew he’d hit on something at the mention of a break. As a short-timer, was he allowed the kind of leave that would allow for a week or two away from Starfleet, Melbek III, and the like?

“A vacation. . .” Spock mused.

“We need it.” Tralnor kicked back and sopped up the warmth. Sprawling out on the seats, not touching surfaces contaminated by the psychic residue of the prison, his hackles slowly settled.

A weary quiet lasted less than ten minutes, interrupted when Spock said, “Mollie was recently asked by my father to be my wife.”

That got Tralnor sitting, feet flat on the cabin floor, and staring at his not-quite-cousin. “Sarek has a knack for stirring shit up. What brought this on?”

Was this the impetus to Spock’s mini-meltdown during their dinner with Interior Minister Portman? “It is impossible to surmise what my father wants to get from such interference. Your sister said he was rather enthusiastic about the prospect of us marrying. He wants to make the announcement, soon.”

“I think you’ve come to that shit or get off the pot moment years earlier than you were expecting.” Tralnor swirled along in the pyroclastic flow of Spock’s conflicting thoughts and feelings on the matter. He needed to make up his mind and Tralnor leaned toward marrying Mollie if only for the stability she offered.

“In the memory you shared with me, your psionic connection to Jock Balloch and Amelie Grace, I sensed it was. . . _old fashioned_? I do not know how else to speak of it.” Spock wanted Tralnor to have the answer to this hulking conundrum.

Without asking for clarification, Tralnor guessed at what Spock was intimating. “Are you wanting to know my opinion on the Shif-ahkhanlar?”

Spock hesitated, uncertain in his want for this knowledge. “I have not heard it called that before.”

The ancient phrase meant _paired for war_. Spock was likely more familiar with another set of words. “Is it possible to have an Adun’a and a T’hy’la?”

“Was that how it was going to be for you? Before the murders, of course?”

Tralnor didn’t want to talk about his dead lovers. The dynamic of Tralnor/Jock/Amelie Grace was completely different from what Spock faced because there was a distinct lack of vicious envy and territorial nastiness from those once a part of Tralnor’s life. “I don’t think Jim Kirk will understand. He’ll see it as you having your cake and eating too with him as a supposedly lesser-status partner to you than Mollie.”

A spouse and a shield brother were different people who filled different roles in a person’s life. Neither was more or less important than the other. Kirk would get caught up on his human ideals of the totally monogamous status quo his people valued. An ancient Vulcan set of mores, one of the few holdovers from the pre-Reform times, the practice of marrying one person and having a relationship with a sort of soul-mate/brother/lover/best friend, at the same time, that rarely made sense to people like Kirk.

“Again, Spock, he’d have to accept Mollie, that she’s a part of you. He despises her with every fiber of his being and resents that she exists in your universe. He wants you to choose, him or Mollie. He won’t let you have both.”

  
  
  
Damned if he didn’t feel pretty good! Captain Kirk returned to his ship, finished out the last hour of his watch, choked down a plate of sweet and sour something or other, and settled into his usual spot in Rec Room 2.

“Put the tricorder away, Bones.”

“Humor your dear old Ma.” The doctor, unrelenting, ran his machine.

“Give it to me straight, Doc.” Kirk razzed his friend and faked a cough. “Is this the end? It is curtains?”

“It might be if you don’t hold still.”

T’Lal and Sarek entered the room, him looking at Kirk like he’d just spied a giant cockroach. _Elephant dick_ , Kirk thought.

The school friends, Billie, Joe, and Sohja appeared and made it to the front of the room. All three looked tired but ready for a little fun. Joe went to fiddle around with something on Tralnor’s desk.

“You find it yet, Henny-Penny?” Billie wandered over.

“Oh, I found it. It just doesn’t feel right to show it without those guys being here is all.” Joe didn’t have anything up on the screen yet.

“What about some of your new stuff then?” Billie motioned toward the terminal. “Who here wants to see our Joe show off his acting chops?”

Slightly red, Joe said, “I was thinking some clips from that last big thing I was the exec producer on.”

“Sohja, he’s blushing. What don’t I know about you, Joe?”

McCoy shot Kirk a questioning look. Jim had spent more time with these people than he had. “Any idea?”

“Nothing.” Kirk wouldn’t know where to begin with Joe. What could the guy possibly have to be embarrassed about after what they all learned on the bridge the other day?

“Hot damn. She’s looking at me again, Jim.” Bones referenced Sohja.

“Well, someone else is looking at me.” What the ever-loving fuck was Sarek’s problem right now?

Tralnor’s comm went off, saving Joe from some strange fate, and resetting all eyes to the front of the room. Billie said, “It’s from our favorite engineering and architectural firm. We should probably answer it. At least we can tell them he’s not here.”

“Okay.” Joe hit the connect button.

“Would you look at that, Buster?” Nola’s face filled less of the screen as she backed off and sat down. “We’ve found ‘em right where I said we would.”

“Mr. Peanut Butter had to step away from his desk. We don’t know when he’ll be back.” Joe’s natural disposition was returning.

“It’s not him we’re needing to hash things out with right now.” Nola waved at Buffalo Bill. “It’s Sohja.”

“Ooooooooh, _Tinkerbell is in trouble_.” Joe stepped aside so Sohja had a chance at center stage.

Nola ignored Joe and focused on the Companies House Assessor. “I know you’re going to ask me if this could have waited, but we thought you’d rather know now.”

“And don’t worry, it’s good news.” Buster said.

Kirk expected her to say something like, Vulcans do not worry. Spock would have done that as a dig at his human coworkers. His heart pinged and twisted in on itself.

“Proceed with your good news.”

“You’ll like this.” Nola nudged her husband and business partner.

“Got word this morning that Sovaud is nominated for three outstanding structural engineering achievement awards from the Sears Tower Conservancy Commission. So, he’ll be off-world for the banquet and ceremony. We wanted to say something so you weren’t shocked by returning to an empty house.” Buster offered a thumbs-up gesture. “He asked if we’d let you know.”

“We’re excited for him.” Nola grinned. “He’s sure as hell earned it. Hopefully, you’ll be back from whatever you’re doing in time to join him in Chicago two weeks from today.”

“It’s probably better if she’s not.” Billie said, mostly to Nola. “Not if he actually wants to collect his little statuette in person.”

“That’s a good point, Buffalo Bill.” Nola giggled. “You know, I keep expecting to see that man’s obituary and it detailing that he died from a crushed pelvis.”

“Hell of a way to go.” Snickering, Billie said, “How do you put that on a death certificate?”

“I don’t think you’re giving the guy much of a chance.” Joe countered the others’ comments. “Sovaud’s a hell of a lot tougher than that.”

“What is the proper legal and medical parlance for _she jumped his bones until they turned to dust_?” Nola teased before assessing what she’d just said. “We’re just giving you a hard time, Sohja.”

“You are wrong in your assessment.” Sohja said.

“Vulcans live to say that.” Kirk heard Bones whisper. “They love telling people how wrong they are.”

“His death certificate would bear no mention of pelvic fractures. Rather, the inscription would say that he died from a massive acute myocardial infarction.” Sohja’s expression said her word was final.

“Either way, he’ll have a smile on his face.” Buster was good with that. “Lucky bastard.”

“I wish I knew who the hell they were talking about.” Jim muttered. Bones said something back to him, but Kirk was distracted by the Ambassador’s searing gaze.

“Perhaps you would enlighten the audience and explain who Sovaud is.” Sarek dipped into the fray.

“Sorry, everyone.” Joe said. “We’re giving Sohja some hell because. . .”

Sohja finished Joe’s sentence. “Sovaud is my husband.”


	106. Chapter 106

“That was a message directed straight at me, Billie.” Captain Kirk’s muffled voice carried through the bulkheads, landing on Sohja’s ears.

“Message, Jimmy? You’re sounding paranoid.”

Sohja held her ground in the corridor, waiting until this conversation progressed to a good interruption point.

“You know what he was saying, don’t you?” Kirk went on. “He’s saying Spock is marrying Mollie and I’ll be damned lucky if I rate high enough to become a celibate side-lackey like Bergman.”

“Joe’s abstinent, but he’s sure as hell not celibate.” Buffalo Bill defended her oldest friend. “Huge difference. Sex is more than physical, isn’t that one of the details you picked up from that meld earlier?”

“Is it really that okay for Vulcans to cheat on their spouses? I could marry Spock tomorrow and he’d still be free to—” It sounded like he sighed walked into a desk or a table, knocking something over. “I can’t—”

“Look, Jimmy, like so many things with Vulcans, there is a strangely rational explanation. It’s too entrenched in a long history lesson to get into the specifics. Let’s just say they’re a little different than us. Sohja’s not cheating.”

“So, she’s got an open relationship? Her old man gets around too?” Kirk reset the objects he’d tipped over. “Bergman is a leftover who’s content with table scraps?”

Sohja pushed the doorbell.

“What can I do for you, Sohja?” Kirk answered, doing a good job at smoothing the frustration from his face.

“I was told Captain Cody was with you?” She didn’t wait for an invitation and shoved right into his quarters.

Kirk followed after her. “Come on in, I guess.”

“Hey, sorry if we embarrassed you back there. We’re so used to giving you shit about killing your husband in bed that none of us was thinking about how it would sound to people who aren’t part of our strange social circle.” Buffalo Bill’s remorse was well-intentioned but not needed.

“I practice more discernment than Casey’s claim that I fuck anything that moves, and I do have a lot of lovers. My husband can only handle me in small doses, which is not a failing on his part. I am the one with the genetic fluke and I wear him out.” She made those comments for Kirk’s sake and stuck her hand out to Buffalo Bill. The women didn’t have the option of ducking out to the junk room next to engineering.

_Tinkerbell, what’s the commotion_? Cody held the thought for Sohja to read.

(I’ve been asked to tell you that once we are underway tomorrow, Ambassador Sarek is opening communications with ShiKhar and San Francisco.) She stared back at Kirk, meeting his resolve and not flinching or wilting beneath his gaze.

_And don’t interrupt the clandestine messages T’Lal is sending out at the same time_? Buffalo Bill was correct. _I’ve got you covered. You guys do your sneaky shit and I’ll keep running my experiment_.

Touch broken, Sohja stepped off to the side and inspected the liquor bottles out on display. “You wish to say something to me, James?”

“Do you regret marrying your husband instead of Joe?” Kirk wasn’t going to rant and accuse over her so-called slutty behavior, at least not to her face.

“I would not speak for Spock, James.” She addressed his true concern. “Until he returns, think on what was shared with you this morning.”

“See you at breakfast?” Cody said.

“That you shall, Maeve.” Sohja replied.

  
  
  
Kirk faced his first night alone in weeks. Kuznetsov was off to the races, making Dragon seaworthy in a handful of hours. Billie had gone back down to engineering to help put the final spit-polish on the Advanced Aerospace retrofits. Spock was not even on board. Jim was his own worst company.

Reclined on his bed, he actually did as Sohja suggested, carefully examining the details gained from that meld. Still asking himself, why did she and Joe work? How could either of them be the slightest bit happy with their current arrangement? Was it possible to love someone that much and not have a physical relationship?

Thoughts muddled and dashed, he consulted the computer and figured out where Bergman was. “Off to see the Wizard.”

The man behind the curtain was actually seated at Tralnor’s desk, working on some piece of footage. Kirk figured it was another scene from _Celluloid Vokaya_ , based on the faces moving about on the small screen. Joe held up a hand and waved, inviting the captain to join him.

“I was wondering when you’d finally turn up.” Joe stopped the replay and removed the over-ear headphones.

“Huh?” Kirk suddenly felt like the kid who got caught sneaking sweeties from grandma’s candy dish.

“Not that you’re going to come away with anything you’re interested in hearing. I’m just a celibate side-lackey.” That Joe appeared unfazed by Kirk’s derogatory description caused more worry than if the filmmaker had reacted badly. “I’ve been called way worse by my closest friends.”

“She told you?”

“I think it’s a human thing, Captain, to be threatened by those who confuse us and don’t conform. I have what you want, but you don’t like the sacrifices I’ve made to get there. You want an easy way to the top and I can’t give that to you, so you get pissed and take it out on everyone, including the guy you’re in love with.”

The spark of madness that typically accompanied a challenge like this manifested as more of a speed hump than a spiky mountain peak. Something gave him a split second of rational thought before the irritation rankled him. “Damnit, Billie.”

Joe pointed to the chair next to the desk. “So, start grinding your axe.”

“Does it bother you that Sohja is married?”

“Nope. I’m glad that she’s got Sovaud, he’s a good man.” Joe didn’t betray an inkling of offense toward his would-be lover’s husband.

“And he hasn’t tried to chase you off? I can’t imagine that a Vulcan man would take too kindly to a human sniffing around his wife.” Kirk had no idea, but transposing his own thoughts into the mind of someone he didn’t know felt more sensical than blindly accepting a love triangle.

“I offered to beat feet when they got married. I thought the last time I’d see her was at the wedding and I was devastated. Looking back on it now, Tralnor kept trying to tell me that I was overreacting to a hypothetical situation that wasn’t going to play out. Still, I said my goodbyes to her.” Joe reached over and flicked the switch to turn off the screens and their still images of college kids staring into a dark alleyway. “I tried to sneak away after the ceremony so I could officially start to mourn. That’s when Sovaud and Tralnor hunted me down. I learned a lot that night, Captain.”

Feeling like he was baited, Kirk said, “Like what?”

“Sovaud started by saying he didn’t want me to leave, that if Sohja needed me, that meant he needed me too.”

“Manage a trois? That seems too wild for Vulcans. I’m confused.”

“So was I at first.” Joe opened a drawer, popped the lid on a tin, and fished out half a stale cookie. “Humans will automatically think of this as a love triangle when it’s not. It’s a straight line with three points on it. Sohja is at the center. Sovaud and I are the outer markers.”

“You and he are what to each other?”

“Just friends. Like I said, he’s a good guy.”

Still lost, Kirk said, “He’s legally, telepathically, her husband. What does that make you?”

“Tralnor explains this a hell of a lot better than I can because it doesn’t make total sense to me. My own latent cultural biases interfere with a complete comprehension of the whole process. In ancient times, when Vulcans spent their days trying to kill one another off, they weren’t reliably able to access their spouses. That meant for people to survive their own biological ticks, they sometimes had to turn to their friends for help.” Joe hesitated like he didn’t know how much more he should disclose.

Kirk didn’t buy it. “Okay. You’re this friend?”

“Yeah.”

“A backup in case Sovaud can’t be there when she goes into—”

Joe shook his head. “Not a backup.”

“What’s a comparable example?” _Stop teasing me, Bergman, and give me the damned information_.

“Humanity doesn’t really have one. Mostly because there’s a psionic component to this whole thing. Um, militarily speaking from an earth point of view, these relationships are something like what’s shared between battle buddies. Your best friend in the foxhole, he’s more than a friend, he’s a brother who’s closer to you than a brother. . . Sometimes he can be your lover, but that’s not always the case. I’m not doing this any fucking justice.” Unhappy he couldn’t convey meaning with words, Joe went on. “The Vulcan word for husband, straight translation, have you heard it?”

“Spock’s mom used it, I’m sure.”

“Do you remember what it was?”

Kirk rattled his memories for anything Amanda said. “No. I don’t recall.”

“How much working knowledge do you have of Modern Golic? One of the words I need to use doesn’t translate well and will cause more confusion when I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t, I don't know the language. I’ve been told it’s not easy.” Which was a shitty excuse considering his love for one of its native speakers.

“So, I’ll just stick to. . . Remember these two words: Adun and T’hy’la.” Joe went so far as to write them out in Standard and Golic script, handing Jim the partial page from a notebook. “The first is Sovaud. The second, that’s me. And because I blow giant donkey dick at defining the second word, you’re going to have to learn it from context or ask someone like Tralnor. He can give you the goods telepathically, bypassing all this vocal cords slapping together shit.”

“What I felt from you and Sohja, that’s this t’hy’la?” Kirk rubbed his thumb over the writing.

“Yeah, that’s what you felt. It’s something that develops organically. It’s not prearranged by your parents when you’re seven. It just happens, but it doesn’t happen to everyone. Extenuating circumstances have to put you with the right person at the right time. It’s a game of chance, and let me tell you, I _never_ expected to be part of such a thing. Part social, part psionic, part fate. . .” Joe stopped, for certain not wanting to divulge more. Was it to protect his connection to Sohja or conforming with the modesty of the people he spoke for?

“Well, I think I’m going to start by looking these up. Between your attempt at explaining and a good database—”

“You’ll never find the second one. It’s one of those concepts, like the Fever, that’s not released for off-world consumption.”

“Sneaky bastards.” Kirk nearly sprained a muscle rolling his eyes. “Everything’s got to be a secret with them.”

“It’s the telepathic thing. Psi-null humans tend to be scared off by spontaneous psionic linkages, especially the kind that could become permanent.”

“Billie said Sohja wasn’t cheating on her husband.” Wrapping his blown mind around some of this information was going to be difficult. “Does this mean when Spock marries Mollie that he and I can still be together?”

“Bollocking shit.” Joe lost some color in his face. “ _They’re getting married_? For real?”

“That’s what his father told me.” Why was this a surprise to everyone? Were people so damned blind that they couldn’t see what played out right in front of them? Was the universe stupid?

“They’ve fought long and hard to avoid that outcome. I just can’t see it happening.” Head shaking, he said, “Um, if it turns out that you and Spock are t’hy’la, then yeah, it could work that way.”

“And if I marry him, she could stick around in more ways than one?” _There’s no getting rid of her, Jimmy_ , Kirk thought.

“It could work that way too.”

  
  
  
T’Lal had a tourniquet around her left arm when Sohja entered her quarters. The pilot immediately went back to inserting an IV catheter into a vein on the top of her hand. A burst of green into the line, T’Lal taped it down, removed the tourniquet, and turned on the turquoise-colored drip.

“You are ill?” Sohja was not expecting this display.

“I have a form of anemia and am in the midst of a flare-up. So long as I supplement my body in this manner, I remain functional.” T’Lal looked at the door the second it opened to admit Sarek.

“Mr. Bergman is speaking with James Kirk, trying to explain t’hy’la to someone who is incapable of appreciating the meaning.” Sarek took a seat. “Therefore, we must meet without Joseph.”

“Sa-pi-maat, I have put Captain Kirk through a wel-sasayek izau procedure. He should become more stable.”

“That is helpful. In the place we are going, his strong emotional entanglement with my son makes him dangerous, possibly even a suitable host for the tavalik duv-tor.” Sarek’s concern was not subtle. “He must remain as rational as we can make him.”

“He is what the humans call a wildcard.” T’Lal shifted position. “I may or may not have done some good today. It remains to be seen how much the chemical rebalance of his brain will level him out.”

“Short of placing him into a medically induced coma, what else can you do for him, T’Lal?” Sohja found the meld an interesting experience, though it disturbed her to taste the sting of Kirk’s negative emotions.

“There is not time for anything else. To calm such a riotous mind, he will need extensive work with a T’Kehr who can slowly guide him through the process. Doing that means he might have to give up some of the pain he sees as his driving force. I do not think he will want that.” T’Lal started to appear less waxen.

“When are we projected to dock at Northern Pacific?” Sarek turned the meeting toward their voyage.

“Factoring in the time for Starbase 21’s departure queues, sixteen hours and nine minutes, under ideal conditions, of course.”

“Of course.” Sarek said.

“I will be on the bridge for the entire effort. Do not plan on seeing me until we disembark to retrieve the letter.” T’Lal opened the drip to full force.

“When do I inform Joe that he is—” Sohja started.

“When we arrive at our final destination.” Sarek cut her off. “He is not healthy enough to sustain the stress-level should you tell him now.”

Sohja didn’t like keeping things back from Joe. It felt too much like lying. “I will wait.”


	107. Chapter 107

The rain continued through the night. All four artifact hunters decided to sleep aboard No. 742, gaining some respite from the weather. Privacy for the couples was a curtain drawn between sections of the passenger cabin. Seats folded flat so no one had to sleep on the ground.

Mollie put on a pair of dry socks before climbing in next to Spock. She burrowed into the blankets, pressing into his back. (You’re nice and warm.)

Not quite like having ice cubes poured down his back, Mollie’s lowered body temperature gave him an initial chill. (There is something I want to know.)

(What’s that?) She reached over him and weaved her fingers with his, cool cheek against his shoulder.

(Our first time making love, how did you know what was happening to me, how to handle the situation?)

(My grandmother picked up that we were planning our first sexual encounter. That’s when she told me about Refraction Syndrome. It runs in your family. Her husband had it, his father and your grandfather had it. She knew Tralnor inherited it and thought it wise to inform me that you might have it too.)

He rolled over to face her. (Why did you not warn me of the potential pain?)

(T’Lessa thought you’d have been tested and told if you had it or not because you were old enough to know. That your family didn’t follow up—) Her disappointment in his family was not uncommon. (A few weeks ago, I confronted Sarek about it. He didn’t know.)

(He thought I was too human to have me examined for the affliction.)

She wouldn’t confirm his statement. She didn’t have to. They both knew it was the truth. (The look on his face, you’d have thought he’d gotten slapped.)

_He deserved it_ , Spock thought to himself. Sarek believes he is all-knowing and for him to be shown otherwise would be a shock.

Spock placed his hand over her ear, tilting her head where he kissed between her eyebrows.

  
  
  
Tralnor waited for his companions to drift off, taking close notice of when Sha’leyen entered the deepest segment of the sleep cycle. He went for the locker where she secured her books and insidious drugs, set his flat palm against the locking mechanism, psionically tricking it into letting him in. Like almost all Vulcans, he saw a fuller spectrum of light than humans were capable of and didn’t need to alter the shuttle’s nightlight setting. Where a human got just enough illumination to stumble to the bathroom, he could read.

The unknown thing he’d hit upon that afternoon, it lingered in his mind. He’d made a point of meditating on it, gleaning its importance, if any, to this mission. He’d wanted for it to be a minor inconvenience, a pocket of rot to be worked around. The more he concentrated, it came to him in a clearer manner, with a less visual than verbal comparison, a connection lit. One of Sha’leyen’s books had a description of a separate artifact of malice than the one they sought.

Kum-natuhn in Ancient Golic, kamatone in Old Lyr Saan, literally translated as capture case, he reread the entry. In and of itself, a kum-natuhn was inert, like a blank data chit waiting for information. Reminiscent of the manner Justin taught Tralnor to save memories onto hard-drives, this nifty device recorded whatever a psion put on it. The difference between audiovisual memories on computers and the kum-natuhn was the emotional component.

Touch this device, open a memory, relive the sight, sound, and feeling of the scene. For a normal person, revisiting an event like the birth of a child or an artistic accomplishment, this wasn’t an imperiling item. A perverted mind, like many of those left to fester at this prison, could use this to revel in the havoc and pain they caused, or worse, foist their hellish actions on the minds of others.

Some pre-Reform Vulcans used a kum-natuhn as repositories. They lacked the strict mental discipline Tralnor and his contemporaries were raised with. Their minds were more on par with what he found in modern humans, not entirely organized, and sometimes difficult to retrieve information from.

Tralnor closed the volume. He needed to get back into that building and find all kum-natuhnlar. One might hold an actual reference to the tavalik duv-tor.

  
  
  
_Imagine that, Sarek looks pissed_. Captain Kirk hoped the Ambassador would have hidden out in his quarters this morning.

“Jim.” McCoy raised his coffee.

“Morning, Bones.” Other than the diplomat-curmudgeon, the mess was an exuberant place. _Their ship was a ship again_!

Kirk went through the line, not paying attention to the piece of fruit he grabbed and collected his first coffee of the day. “You and yours ready for this?”

“I feel like I’ve waited my entire life for 0830.” The doctor scanned each face, searching out one civilian. “Damnit, she’s not here. I was wanting one last look-see before we strapped in and kissed our asses goodbye.”

“You still want to? Even after hearing more about how she turns men into mush?” Previously, he’d have given her a shot. Maybe not so much now even with the knowledge he didn’t have to worry about an angry husband and an angry Joe hunting him down and castrating him. _Too rich for my blood_ , Kirk thought.

“You’ve gotten horizontal with a bevy of non-humans. I like to think of this as my chance to finally experience something as epic as you have.” Coffee up to his lips, McCoy’s blue eyes saw all.

“I might say I was honored by your sportsmanship, and the whole imitation and flattery thing, but—”

“Your buddy just walked in.” A slight motion of a brow got Kirk turned.

Today’s aloha shirt was a cardinal and gold USC print, Buddy Holly sunglasses perched on the crown of his head, and from this angle, Kirk saw the dingbat had real penny coins tucked into the tops of his shoes. Smiles and waves, someone from ops brought Joe something to sign. _What an asshole_ , Kirk said to himself.

“A _Pluto’s Garden_ reunion show? Well, I don’t know. We might have a problem gathering the entire cast, and by that, I mean Captain Bill. It wouldn’t be the same without both of the Peregrine twins.” And through the line he went.

The doctor got in a short laugh.

“What’s that for?” Kirk broke from the spectacle.

“I don’t get why you hate the guy. I think he’s kind of charming in a sunny California sort of way.” That Bones would say that about someone so irritating made Kirk question his friend’s mental status.

“ _The sky was all purple/there were people runnin' everywhere_!” Joe, joined by Billie, started to croon. “ _Tryin' 2 run from the destruction/U know I didn't even care_.”

As much as Kirk liked Billie, he found he didn’t have her appreciation of Joe Bergman, which soured his perception of her a sliver.

“' _Cuz they say two thousand zero zero party over/oops out of time_.” They bumped hips, clashing red, gold, and blue almost making for an art gallery painting. “ _Tonight we’re gonna party like it’s Nineteen-Ninety-Nine_!”

“He was far more tolerable when he was still in California and yelling obscenities from his couch.” Jim bit into his apple, chewed twice, and hocked the mouthful into a napkin. “This is a cooking apple, for pork chops. You don’t eat these.”

“Uh-oh.” Bones got out before two chairs pulled back at their table.

Smile wide, “Hey Billie. Nice tune you two were belting out.”

“It’s something stupid we used to do before we started our day on set. One of those things that only kids find funny.” She glanced at Kirk’s apple and shoved hers toward the center of the table. “We could do the whole song for you.”

“That’s fine, I’m good.” Kirk waved her off. “You nervous?”

“No comment.” She decided to flirt, giving him a much-needed dose of confidence. “But I’ve got you with me, so everything’s good.”

“Whoopsie-doodle.” Joe said, derailing what little fun Kirk would find that day. “I gotta go take care of this.”

“What is his problem?” Kirk uttered. “Do you think it would kill him to hold still for five minutes when he’s in these manic states?”

Ignored by Bones and Billie, Kirk revolved again to catch Joe’s latest attention-whoring stunt.

“Whoa! Sohja, you’ve— _Stop_.” Joe had to step in front of her to impede her progress.

It took Kirk a second to work out who Joe was talking to, even having said her name. “Damn.”

“Oh, wow.” Billie clasped Kirk’s arm. “That’s something I’ve seen maybe twice in the twenty-ish years I’ve known her.”

A snort from McCoy, “Would you look at that? She’s dressed like a Vulcan.”

Sohja appeared as an entirely different person in her native garb. The cut of the clothes, the colors, the lines, all served to blatantly accentuate what she was. The result left her looking wicked, borderline evil, and not someone you’d want to fuck with. She raised a brow at Joe.

“You’ve never worn this before, have you?” Joe glanced up and down.

The mess hall quietened down, even Sarek disengaged from his thought palace to watch what was going on. Dinner theatre over breakfast?

“I have never had occasion to wear such garments.” She said.

“No shit?” Joe grinned.

“I had to borrow these from Lt. Seltun as Starbase 21 did not have anything appropriate for sale.”

“Gimme the jacket.” He waggled his hand. “You should have asked for help.”

Not acquiescing, Sohja remained still. “I am an adult, fully capable of dressing myself.”

“One word, Soazh: protocol.” He waggled his hand again.

“My name is Sohja.” Their little name ritual completed, she shrugged off the outer layer.

He walked around her once, Jim not noticing anything off-kilter. He was inclined to agree with Sohja, she was a big girl who didn’t need her hand held to put her clothes on. Joe had her extend her arms out to the sides where he untied and removed the wrap-around covering a thin, long-sleeved base layer.

“First, you’ve got to tuck this in and raise the waist. That’s why you were looking bunched up around the middle.” Shirt positioned, drawstring adjusted so the trousers sat above her belly-button, Joe turned his attention to the top, doing something to the collar and shoulders that drew them closer together, more proportional to her body. “Keep your arms out while I get this on you. I’ve got to make sure the wrap ties are threaded correctly.”

She followed his direction and let him do what he needed. Slack pulled in, he was left with enough to run the ties around the outside of the top one more time, where it would finally knot just above the left hip. “Is yours a Desh’rak or Khu’rak Na’nam family?”

“t’Gef-Zehl is Desh’rak. Why is that significant?”

“It determines what style of knot you wear.” He stared her in the eye, his hands not moving. “Northerners and Southerners traditionally preferred two different styles of scabbards and developed different knots to keep their daggers attached to their clothes. There aren’t any knives anymore, but the knots stayed around.”

Sohja asked the question everyone want to know right then. “How do you know this?”

He made the knot in the appropriate shape before facing the room, catching Billie’s eye in particular. “In the last twenty years, I’ve not done much acting, especially not where people know it's me. But for the little I still do, believe it or not, I’m typecast.”

“As the village loon.” Kirk whispered, getting a hard pinch from Billie.

“I’ve gotten the reputation as the guy you want for playing Vulcans.” He held up the jacket and got her into it, settling it correctly on her shoulders, showing her how and when it was worn open or closed. “I’m lucky. I’ve got friends who can bail my ass out when I need to know some things. I had to wear this outfit for my most recent role and I didn’t have the first clue how to put it on right. Tralnor’s not Surakian, so he was a bust. I called Spock. He saved my hide on this one.”

When he was done, Sohja was transformed. She was more elegant, less something from _The Wizard of Oz_.

“Mr. Bergman, what role could you possibly play that required such costuming?” Sarek asked.

Joe, head slightly cocked, addressed the older man. “Sir, I was playing you.”

  
  
  
Curtain divider yanked open, Sha’leyen knelt on the bed to shake Spock and Mollie from their slumber. “He’s not here. Tralnor left, likely a couple of hours ago.”

Mollie sat and swept her hair out of her face. “That little fungus.”

“You are certain he has not gone outside to relieve himself?” Spock rapidly gained coherence as his body shed what was a nice sleep. He traced along the outer edges of his psionic perimeter, immediately finding it empty.

“I looked. I did not find him.” Sha’leyen backtracked to the other side of the shuttle and began getting dressed. She’d returned from her minor search wearing boots and her nightclothes.

“He knows better.” Mollie reached around for her underpants, fumbling through the sheets until Spock turned on a reading lamp so she could see. Crawling into yesterday’s clothes, she was putting on her boots before Spock sat and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Tralnor thinks we found something yesterday.” Not stopping to dig for clean things, he followed the girls’ cue and just got dressed. He took more time to retrieve his copy of the site map. “He has gone back here.”

“At least that sector has seemed relatively safe.” Sha’leyen pushed forward into the cockpit and fired up the shuttle. They didn’t have the leisure of making the walk.

  
  
  
“That was almost as good as elephant dick. Maybe even better in some ways.” Kirk had invited McCoy to his office for one last yak before Enterprise cast off.

“Mine eyes have never seen the like.” Bones smirked.

“Okay, so the guy’s a hyperactive twerp, but he has a remarkable talent for short-circuiting Sarek’s holier-than-thou bullshit.” Jim relished the flashing expression of shock and horror he’d witnessed. “Maybe that’s the reason Spock puts up with Joe?”

McCoy shook his head. “That was priceless.”

Billie entered the room right as Kirk wanted to take the conversation to a more serious place. He needed to figure out why Joe was tolerated and even sheltered by these people who were anathema to Bergman’s way of existing. If given the choice between Jim and Joe, Sarek would pick the movie producer with zero hesitation.

“Howdy, boys.” She wore a slight smile that did little to displace the gravity of her mood. “I’ve got everyone running the last of their checklists, impulse engines are back online, and our day awaits.”

“Captain Cody.” Bones mimed tipping his hat. “I’m off to monitor my kingdom. Don’t you go sending me anyone.”

This left the two captains facing one another where she said, “Let’s blow this joint and see what this old girl can do.”

  
  
  
_1999_ , lyrics by Prince, 1982


	108. Chapter 108

On another world, it would have looked like a dark room and the undulating light from a motion picture reflecting off the wall. . . Tralnor was sat on the gymnasium floor, partially surrounded by tossed and tipped boxes, four candy bar-sized devices resembling caskets set beside him. One device, clenched in his left hand, emitted the flickering, almost foggy, illumination. Spock shined a battery-operated torch in Tralnor’s face, getting him to glance right. Muddy, face lined and tear-streaked, he sighed and faced forward.

This scene was a stark reminder of their childhoods. Tralnor always assuming the largest share of any arduous burden so he might spare others the pain/fear/discomfort of life’s most complex situations. Spock and Mollie tried to keep the hyper-empath as reined in as they could, helped when he asked, and offered support no matter what.

“Tralnor, what the hell were you thinking? Are you fucking stupid?” Mollie got as close as she dared, just outside of swiping distance of her brother. “Going all Captain Chaos on us in a place like this? _Don’t scare us like that_!”

“I know what it feels like now.” He weakly pointed at the third casket thing before looking up into the faces of his frightened friends and family. “Most importantly, I know what it looks like. The stone its made of, the dimensions, the decoration, _I saw it_.”

“The tavalik duv-tor, Tralnor?” Sha’leyen too stopped short, not risking an accidental touch, thus avoiding upsetting his delicate state.

“It’s here, in the city, like we thought. Well-insulated from casual and powerful minds alike. Even I can’t walk right to it.” He let the item in his hand roll off the ends of his fingers. The fuzzy moving light cut out, leaving him bathed in the artificial rays of the human-made torch bulb.

“Can you get up on your own or am I assisting you?” Spock held out his arm, not giving Tralnor much of a choice.

Tralnor looked up at him, grabbed Spock’s arm, and got to his feet. “The clarity in which I viewed this thing, it was like being in the same room with it.”

“Why don’t you rest up while we get you back to camp?” Sha’leyen started for the shuttle. “Mollie, come with me.”

Woozy, Tralnor began to tilt. Spock had to keep him upright. “You don’t have to say it. I know I was rash and impulsive coming back here on my own. This could have gone horribly wrong.”

“Yet you came out here. What did you hope to accomplish that we could not have taken care of later today?” Spock was more concerned than irritated, where Mollie and Sha’leyen were pissed.

He wasn’t going to answer. It didn’t matter what his motivation was. Tralnor decided to work on exiting the building.

Spock halted, asking a question he knew the answer to. “Why did you do this?”

Tralnor tried not to let his weary state set him on edge. “We’ll stand here until Easter if I don’t tell you, right?”

“If that is what you wish.”

“I had no way of being certain that something wasn’t going to crawl out of one of these and attack you.” He indicated at the objects he’d lined up on the floor. “Coming alone was the only way I could guarantee your safety.”

  
  
  
All systems go, he felt her move under her own power and gleefully observed as Starbase 21 shrank in the distance. Jim cared not that he was dead weight, a seat filler. His ears delighted in the mundane sounds of bridge life. A peek over his shoulder at Billie got him a smile and a wink.

USS Dragon called. The little patrol boat was hot on Enterprise’s heels. Kuznetsov’s exhausted satisfaction mirrored Jim’s state of mind. She gave a brief rundown of what his silver lady looked like as she reclaimed the stars.

He also observed four of the officers he’d sent over to supplement Dragon’s thin bridge crew and was unnerved by the way his helmsmen faced him. He’d liked it better when he was forced to stare at the backs of their heads.

Billie gave the order to move at one-quarter impulse until they crossed past a certain navigational point. Then, T’Lal would give it the boot and Enterprise would leap to Warp One and spend the rest of this leg to Northern Pacific running up and down a speed scale that should take them to Warp Five at the uppermost limit.

“I can’t believe I’ve never asked this before, Billie. Why are we stopping at such an arbitrary speed? This ship can and has gone a lot faster than Warp Six.” Too wrapped up in his damned personal life or lack thereof, he’d either not picked up certain details or not sought them out.

“Sir, Warp Accelerator technology means that today’s top speed is the old Warp Six.” Lt. Churchill offered.

“By the end of our twenty-one days in the lanes, Jimmy, we’ll have gotten this pretty lady to 1024x the speed of light.”

Kirk felt dizzy at the prospect. “That’s—”

“Warp Eight on the new accelerated scale as developed by Dr. Okuda of Advanced Aerospace Research and Design.” Billie got up from her station and stepped down beside him. “We’re competing head-to-head against the MIT cabal who are working on the Transwarp Systems Project. Transwarp sounds great on paper, but it’s never going to come to fruition, not in our lifetimes anyway.”

He’d heard about MIT’s research and not thought much of it. “Last I knew, transwarp was only in the realm of science fiction.”

“And that’s where it’s going to stay. Meanwhile, we’ll keep blasting around the stars.” The ambient bridge noise was interrupted by a sound indicating they’d moved beyond the buoy. “Whenever you’re ready, T’Lal.”

“Yes, Sir.” The pilot removed her sunglasses from her collar, set them on her face, and launched them into their new adventure.

  
  
  
Veddah followed Hoskins’ instruction. While it chafed to accept help from a person who wanted to rape him to death, he kept his cool and did what he needed to secure Laura’s health. She’d put off any requests of this nature until there was no remediation. He’d had to seek advice.

In his and his wife’s favor, Hoskins refused to beam down. That was one of the doctor’s traits. Unless he was off to seek a violent sexual encounter, he was a homebody who rarely left Sweetness’ sanctuary. Instead, Veddah intercepted a cargo crate beamed to a set of coordinates several kilometers away from the area he and Laura currently searched. Where the doctor wouldn’t follow, one specific member of the crew might take the initiative and want to “save” his captain, transporting to the same site the medical supply hamper was sent to.

The former veterinarian talked Veddah through starting Laura’s IV line, administering proper medications at the correct dosages, and the most expedient methods for monitoring her condition. Hoskins was irked when Veddah refused to show any gratitude for the assistance.

Communication line shut down, left alone with her, Veddah leaned her against him and they both got some sleep. His next moment of awareness was of Laura touching his face and showing him the cobalt blue light she’d described a couple of days earlier. He couldn’t tell what this thing was that kept reaching out to her. It didn’t want to cause any harm and seemed only intent on making its presence known.

Awake, she examined the medical equipment attached to her arm. “Starting to feel a little better.”

Her declaration cleared some of his worries, but she still needed rest to regain her strength. “Sleep, Adun’a.”

No argument, Laura closed her eyes and reentered her slumber.

  
  
  
Sohja, out of her element, was grateful when Ambassador Sarek finished with his calls. San Francisco was the easy one. All that needed to be done was issuing instructions for Sajak and the rest of the staff to carry out. There were a couple of raised eyebrows at the sight of a new assistant, but no one was bold enough to ask about her.

Her primary function was to act as a witness to these exchanges. She stood off to the side but still in the frame of the video feed. Her lack of insight on Sarek’s day-to-day work made her glad she didn’t have to participate in any conversation.

When the activity wound down, Sohja was beyond ready to get out of her borrowed clothing. The length, layers, and symbolism bothered her. She immediately unbuttoned the jacket when the screen went blank on Enterprise’s end. Removed and draped over her arm, losing the jacket left her feeling less like she was smothering beneath a pile of bedding. “Am I free to go, Sir?”

“Do not return the clothes. I will need your services again tomorrow when we send a response to the letter.”

“Yes, Sir.” At least tomorrow, she could dress herself.

The lighting fluctuated in concert with the ship juddering. Instinctually, Sohja took a seat. The knowledge that the Wild West Show, a new ship, was nearly destroyed by this experimental technology left her suspicious of Enterprise’s every creak and groan.

“The crew has everything under control. We are not in danger.” His confidence didn’t seem misplaced, but it was unnerving to live within the hull of a testbed.

She eased up and was ready to depart for her cabin. The sooner she got this costume on a hanger, the better it would look for tomorrow.

“Before you go, I would request that you consider something.” Sarek let his head tilt back a few degrees and he folded his hands together.

She picked at the scabbard knot over her left hip and extricated herself from the top before folding it over the jacket. “Sir?”

“Given your background and abilities to navigate the human world, have you thought of applying those skills elsewhere?”

“To what end?” She knew where this was headed.

“I need someone of your capabilities on my senior staff.” Given the infiltration of Vulcan’s government by AVDL moles, Sarek was smart to try and find uncorrupted people to work with. “You have proven trustworthy and mission-focused.”

“I do not believe that I am an appropriate recruit for the Diplomatic Corps.” She liked her job, where she could exercise the kind of discretion that allowed her to pull the plug on negotiations and certain individuals when talks and mergers went into the toilet. “I am not what many think of when referring to Vulcans. That dichotomy could cost you credibility. What works in the business world is not always applicable to governmental processes.”

“The current establishment has grown stagnant, which has invited outside corruption. Vulcan needs fresh perspectives so that we can stop the rot, and in order to do so, we need people who are not so entrenched in the old ways that they cannot see the adulteration set out before them.”

When presented that way, Sohja appreciated Sarek’s approach to rooting out spies and mediocrity. “I will consider your offer, Sir.”

Ready to finally escape, she hesitated. “Have you made your son’s betrothal announcement?”

  
  
  
Drawn out in pencil and colored in, the box was simple but elegant. If forced to compare it to something human, Tralnor described it like the art deco style as seen in the transportation and architecture of that era. It was the same size as the examples from Sha’leyen’s library and that was it. Carved from a stone similar to jade, it was dark green and sleek. Nothing about it from the outside read as a threat. Jewelry box, spice chest, piggy bank, junk holder, it looked like the most mundane object.

“It’s very plain.” Sha’leyen held up the rendering. “It blends in so well as to be almost unnoticeable. The number of little trinket chests I’ve seen like this on Belon is staggering. They are just as common on Vulcan. Hidden, not hidden, either way, it’s invisible.”

“It’s almost exactly like one our grandmother has.” Mollie got a nod of confirmation from Tralnor. “You said you know what it feels like. What’s its tell?”

Unenthusiastic to share the details because that meant revisiting them with this empathic senses, he pulled himself together. “The first thing you’ll notice is that it makes your mouth taste like death.”

  
  
  
“Enterprise, do we read you right, registration number _NX-One-Seven-Zero-One_?” Northern Pacific’s watch commander was called to the traffic controller tasked with bringing the Federation’s flagship into port.

“That is correct, Northern Pacific.” Captain Kirk said. “It’s a temporary designation, just until we’re done running a few errands.”

The watch commander wasn’t sure he believed Jim. He thought Starfleet was up to something fishy. Famous vessels like Enterprise didn’t arbitrarily switch reg numbers, indicating that she’d possibly been pulled off the line and relegated to some less glamorous and possibly more dangerous task. “So long as you don’t do or leave anything too experimental with us here.”

“We pack it in, we pack it out. Common courtesy.” The captain tried to work a little charm. “We’ll try to make it look like we were never here.”

“Roger that, Enterprise. NP C and C, out.”

“Navigation instructions received. Proceed to port, Captain?” T’Lal’s hands were ready to dance across the helm, establishing the ship in a short-term berth.

“Go ahead.” He tried to recall the last time he’d been to this station. Twelve, thirteen years ago? This place had been a layover while he and some friends were returning from leave. “Billie, what’s our turnaround here?”

“TJ, how long is it going to take you to find Tralnor’s letter?” Billie typed as fast as her fingers could move. She scanned over screens and readouts, paying close attention to the engineering ticker that relayed structural integrity estimates and warnings.

“Approximately one hour should we not have to face Customs.” T’Lal’s Ray-Bans were once more hanging off her collar.

“Fucking diplomats get all the breaks.” Billie revolved in her chair where Kirk could read the total exhaustion in her face. “Be gone with ye, T’Lal. Everyone else, go to the mess and then get some sleep. We’ll see you back here at 0640 so we can get back out on the road.”

In seconds, Kirk was alone with Billie. “Anything you need or want me for?”

“I’ve got to go talk to our hardworking guys down in engineering. That way I can get a jump on the reports so I can have a few moments of peace over my coffee in the morning.” She hit the button to call the lift.

“I’ll be down in a few.” He white-knuckled the railing this time as he stared at the empty science station.


	109. Chapter 109

“Whatever she hit me with, it dissipated quickly.” Sarah read through her medical file.

“Or she went in and edited out the part where she slipped you a Mickey.” Alton said. “She knows these systems inside and out. If she wanted to, she could make your records read that you’re criminally insane and too many people can’t tell that the claim is a lie. For some reason, we like to think that medical files are sacrosanct and no one would dare mess with them.”

“You’re right. If someone has a vendetta and alters what the doctors have to say about you, it could cost you everything if the changes are unflattering.”

Alton nodded. “If it doesn’t cost you your job, it could cost you your life. What happens if you have a patient who’s deathly allergic to a medicine, the file gets changed, and there’s an emergency where that patient gets the medicine because the doctors think it's okay?”

“I hate to think about the implications.” She’d been granted a portable terminal when it was noticed that she was going stir-crazy. Sarah paged down two more times. “I can’t get the blood Dr. McCoy took retested. The sample was ordered destroyed even though it should have stayed in the fridge for ninety days.”

“This ship is in trouble all because one psycho nurse can’t get laid.” He grunted in disgust. “And we can’t prove it.”

“Billy the Sixth is a computer guy. Can you ask him to look for signs of tampering in my file?”

“I’m on it the second Seltun arrives.”

  
  
  
Sohja, back in her own clothing, went to meet the other three members of her group in transporter room one. She had to stop and reset a garter clip and when she was done reattaching her stocking to the suspender, she looked up to find someone blocking her way. “Pardon.”

Pale, ice-colored eyes, blond hair piled high on her head, a woman in a blue uniform continued to impede Sohja’s progress. “You’re only fooling yourself.”

An attempt at side-stepping the woman failed. Sohja read the dysfunction on her face. There was no reasoning with this person. “If you do not move out of my way, I will do it for you.”

“I never knew your people were so greedy. A husband and a boyfriend?” Was she trying to issue a challenge or talk out a delusion with the first unfortunate soul she got to hold still long enough to hear her out? “Some of us can’t even catch the attention of the right man.”

Sohja took a step forward. The crewmember wasn’t moving. True to her word, the Vulcan wrapped her hands around the woman’s upper arms, picked her up, and walked her over to a bulkhead like one might operate a livestock gate. 

In motion, nearly late for her call time, she heard the woman trying to follow after. Wondering if she should be worried this person was trying to get the slip on her, Joe Bergman came speed-walking off a side corridor and bounded up to her.

“Did you get any rest today?” While she’d spent her afternoon catching up on work for Companies House, Joe was supposed to have gone to their cabin and relaxed.

“Well, I did get part of the Boat Show sequence cleaned up and re-synched with the music.”

“That is not what you were—” Sohja stopped talking to listen and placed her hand on one of Joe’s bare forearms. (A member of the crew is trailing us, me specifically. I do not know what she wants.)

He moved his head in the affirmative. “Do you hear something, Sohja?”

She didn’t respond because he didn’t expect her to. They halted and he swept behind them.

“Oh, look. It’s Nurse Whatshername.” Joe caught the woman attempting to flee. “She’s stalking you, Tinkerbell, probably because she knows you slept with her crush years ago.”

“No!” The nurse objected. “That’s not possible. It can’t be.”

“ _Spock and Tralnor_.” Joe provoked. “Not at the same time though.”

The nurse’s chin quivered and she fixated on Sohja. “Your avarice knows no bounds. You must spread your legs for anyone if the man you’re married to and this Hollywood shaker can’t slake your lust.”

Joe stood on his toes, leaned toward the offending human, and said, “My darling, you’re missing some vital details.”

“I don’t think so.” She’d passed rigid judgement on Sohja and moved on to Joe as her new target. “I know how you movie star-types operate. I don’t know why you bother with wearing pants. It takes too long to get your zipper down.”

With a waggle of his eyebrows and slip of a naughty boy grin, Joe granted her a particular. In a stage whisper, he let her know, “ _I’m a virgin_.”

Like she’d been force-fed a bar of soap, the nurse’s face twisted. “ _What_?”

“Gotta go or Sarek’s going to ride our asses all night. I’d say it was fun talking to you, but why waste the energy on such a fat lie?” Joe linked arms with Sohja and they completed the walk to the transporter room.

  
  
  
“Pezig’s Gate? Never heard of it.” Bones was weary of Enterprise’s newly declared next destination.

“I hadn't either until ten minutes ago.” Kirk read the translation of the letter as sent to him by Ambassador Sarek.

“Do we know why we’re going there?”

“T’Lal won’t tell Billie. Sohja isn’t going to say a thing. It’s not like Spock’s father would turn loose of that information. I don’t know if it’s classified or not. He’d hold it back just to screw me over.” He clapped his hands on his thighs. “That guy fucking hates me.”

“He’s not a member of your fan club, that much is gospel. Have you tried asking Bergman why we’re flying blind to some hinterland?” The doctor needed some kind of assurance that they weren’t being taken as chumps. “He seems like the weakest link in that social club.”

“Joe’s a sly little bastard with a big mouth, but he’ll never spill. He and Sarek are buddy-buddy, and he toes the Ambassador’s line.” _And Bergman thinks I’m a lazy moron, undeserving of knowing anything more than what the pilot and the diplomat had handed out_ , Kirk thought.

“How’s the ship doing? There were a few times today I thought my coffee was going to jump off my desk. Buffalo Bill’s people need to learn to keep the rev counter even and not pop the clutch when shifting gear.”

“Scotty says we’re good.” He kept that response short. The engineer had regaled Kirk with all of the catastrophic ways this experiment might conclude.

“ _But_. . .” McCoy hinted out.

“We’re good, Bones. The likelihood of something horrible killing us all is really low. That we might need another tug escort to get us back to Starbase 21, I’d say we’ve got about a ten-percent chance of that. Enterprise is a strong hull.”

The doctor hunkered down in a chair. “You look worried.”

“Worried?”

“Our contingent of Vulcan guests are taking us straight to him, Jim. You’ll be back together before you even know it.” The doctor thought he was offering something to look forward to.

Kirk nodded. “I don’t know that he’ll want me as anything more than a boss.”

McCoy didn’t respond to that, offering a mild shrug instead.

  
  
  
A message arrived as the Kennuk tucked in for breakfast. Spock was closest to the communications equipment and took it upon himself to acknowledge the missive and send out a confirmation reply. “Enterprise is on her way.”

“Shit.” Tralnor said. “Why aren’t they arriving on No. 213?”

“They offer no explanation as to the change in transport. They are four-to seven-days out depending on Advanced Aerospace Research and Design’s needs.” Spock, rather than trepidation about his ship and its crew being in danger from the tavalik duv-tor, he was visited by a spike of dread. He wanted more time away from Jim Kirk, needed that respite to prepare for their reunion, and to figure out what place, if any, Jim had in his future.

Sha’leyen’s jaw pulsed. “Whatever their reason, it’s a bad idea.”

“I think they want the extra firepower.” Mollie didn’t like this development any more than the rest of them.

“That’s not—No energy weapons.” Sha’leyen replied. “Phasers and photon torpedoes will only feed into the Vor’s already terrible power.”

Spock, a ghost from his past landing in his present, said, “Torpedoes retrofitted with projectiles, like the one that killed Paulette Gordon, can hit with precision and still inflict maximum damage.”

“They become guided pipe bombs.” Tralnor appreciated the modification. “Zakhira said one of these was taken down by multiple volleys of crossbow bolts. This can do the same without putting people in danger on the front line.”

“And it’s something that our little shuttles are incapable of.” Mollie threaded tendrils of her mind around Spock’s consciousness. (Whatever you decide my friend, I’m here for you.)

(I did not want to face him this soon.) He interwove his thoughts into hers, propping himself up on her unconditional support.

  
  
  
She wasn’t as pink as she should be, but Laura looked healthier than she had in days. Up and walking around their current campsite, her focus was on getting the fire started. She wanted a hot breakfast today and to let Veddah get some sleep following his tireless vigil over her. Just thinking his name brought warmth to her cold black soul.

Her thoughts about him stopped just short of one word. She couldn’t let it cross her mind or take flight from her lips. _I’m not entitled to make that claim_ , she thought. _I’m the villain in this situation. I don’t get to reap rewards I don’t deserve_.

Fire started, she hovered for a moment, appreciating the spike in temperature it offered. Her left hand was still host to the IV catheter Veddah inserted. As she gave thought to removing it, her world went blue for a fraction of a second. “What do you want? Ra du bolaya?”

Her question, in Standard and Modern Golic, received no response. For a while, she’d given credence to the notion that this cobalt light was an artifact of Veddah’s bonding with her, until he told her last night that she directed him to it. He saw it and knew immediately that it wasn’t generated by her brain.

Consciously, she brushed up against the bond, making sure he was still sleeping. The flame started to wane and she encouraged its continued consumption of dry kindling. Once it decided to keep burning, and the kettle went into the pyre, Laura indulged in a slice of pure fantasy. A smile barely played across her face. Heart bursting, she thought to herself, _Veddah wants to give me a baby_.

It would never happen, but the sentiment was uplifting. He’d said, more than once now, that there were multiple ways in which he’d help make her a mother. She had to keep telling herself not to let that dream offer a scintilla of hope. She’d be dead before her ultimate fantasia materialized.

When this nightmare with Veddah started, she’d constantly asked, why did he have to be Vulcan? His mind stirred within hers as he began to wake up, wherein she admitted that she was blessed that he wasn’t any of the human men who’d come into and drifted out of her life.

The ones who’d decided they’d “help” in her quest for parenthood only did so to keep her happy and on their side. All were relieved when she never fell pregnant. Some thought she was an idiot for wanting something so basic, that she was throwing her life away for a mediocre existence of playdates, shitty nappies, and midnight feedings. Others, like Arik, used her reproductive distress to manipulate and degrade her. Why was this inborn desire viewed as weakness?

She could hear Veddah shifting around in the tent, reluctantly emerging from their sleeping bag and exposing himself to the cold, damp morning. The things swirling on the surface of his thoughts: Keeping her safe and healthy. He was more than she’d merited in this lifetime.

  
  
  
Today, they went out together, the four of them walking the streets of a section of the city they’d not explored yet. Tralnor cast open his Mair-rigolauya’s senses to sniff out the demon cube. When he happened upon that taste of death, two of the others entered the structure and one person was left to tend to him.

He’d tried to convince them that he didn’t need a nursemaid, that he should be in the buildings with them, acting in a useful manner. After his walkabout last night, however, he’d be watched every last second they spent on Pezig’s Gate.

The Kennuk arrived at the home of a higher-level administrator. The stand-alone structure was like so many houses on his homeworld that it almost could have been his Uncle Sonreke’s ShiKahr residence. Something was still hidden inside. It wasn’t the tavalik duv-tor, but it might be useful. Mollie and Sha’leyen went in, leaving him and Spock on the dusty front porch.

“He will be here in less than a week.” Spock said, his desperation twisted through Tralnor, both of them left with a mad tingle setting their hair to stand. The first officer was more put off by the prospect of Jim Kirk landing in their laps than whatever the monsters of Vulcan’s past might drop on them.


	110. Chapter 110

“Okay, engineering, we’re knocking her offline on my mark.” Billie looked to T’Lal for some kind of reassurance and got a blink and a slight nod.

Kirk grabbed hold of the armrests, not wanting to experience this mock disruption to Enterprise’s propulsion system. Billie gave the word and Jim had to accept that this ship could take the hull-warping, nacelle pylon shattering abuse Advanced Aerospace hurled at her.

“Helm, report.” Billie ordered.

“Power cut successful, Sir.” Lt. King said.

“Steady rate of decline in our forward progression. No spikes or valleys in ship-wide overall energy consumption or output.” T’Lal’s hands went quickly about the board. “It appears that the integration of the new dampening system is a success.”

“Engineering, give me the quick and dirty on our superconductor components.” Billie lifted a finger off the call button on her station.

“Probable point-three percent degradation.” Scotty’s voice sounded on the bridge. “Even disbursement of energy without fluctuations.”

“Scotty?” Kirk interjected. “Any compromise to structural integrity?”

“We’re looking fit as a fiddle right now, Sirs.” For the first time in days, Kirk didn’t detect the strong doubt in Scotty’s voice that had haunted his voice as of late.

“Excellent.” Billie said. “Let me know when you finish compiling your notes down there and we’ll run this test again.”

Approximately three empty seconds flitted by when Wild West Show’s boss addressed Kirk. “Any feedback, Jimmy?”

Clapping on one of his half-flirtatious grins, he said, “I just hope this new fangled toy of yours isn’t too good to be true. I’m already plotting some of the places this ship can go to when time and distance are less of an obstacle.”

“Pretty exciting, isn’t it?” She returned his pleasant expression.

_If you only knew_ , Kirk thought.

  
  
  
Ambassador Sarek let Sohja piggyback her work through his diplomatic VPN so that she might circumvent Enterprise’s communication blackout. Using this method was completely legal even if it raised Starfleet’s hackles. She was still in contact with her friend Charlie Zamora and Kevin Radovitch’s sister, Sienna Sumner.

It was through these two people that she’d gotten a snippet of information on who might have fixed Kevin’s matriculation and graduation from Starfleet Academy. That, combined with the grade and personnel file tampering evidence Tralnor left for her, kept inching this case forward until she came upon a name previously unknown to her’s, or anyone’s, investigation.

Ellis Gaines was an unremarkable tutor who worked with students who had difficulty with math and reading. He’d grown up with Sienna Sumner and the two had attended posh private schools nestled in the New England countryside. He’d gone on to become a qualified teacher and returned to the exclusive high school he and Kevin’s sister graduated from. That was where he encountered a cabal of four faculty members who went the “extra mile” to make sure students gained entry to the swankiest universities. Gaines lost his position after blowing the whistle on his fellow teachers. He recalled one coworker in particular who was too involved on Kevin Radovitch’s behalf.

Demetria Powell-Cordoba, an English Literature teacher, had a knack for getting her students into the most prestigious institutions. She tried to draw Gaines in on the racket, tempting him with the in-kind “donations” she received for helping rich kids buy and bribe their way out of high school and into tertiary education. A holiday flat in Aspen, cars, vacations, backstage passes, jewelry, gifts for her husband and children, meals at the best restaurants, the list of indulgences granted went on.

How did Kevin pull off the untenable? Powell-Cordoba was in possession of a collection of master encryption pass keys for various colleges and universities. For the right price, high school grades could be improved within her school’s own system. She had the ability to circumvent the traditional vetting students faced in the admission process by merging her kids’ files into those of the already admitted next cohort. Most of the massive schools she sneaked people into didn’t seem to mind one extra chair at the table. It was rare when her special cases had admission rescinded.

Kevin, because he was not even a marginal candidate for a Starfleet Academy slot, and his father, Jerry, paid Powell-Cordoba to get Kevin through the process by gifting her a boutique vineyard in Sonoma County, California. As she had access to the Academy’s computerized educational delivery systems, Kevin kept her in his pocket, deploying her any time he needed a hand up. Grades, nominations, awards, conferences, workshops, they created an outstanding cadet on paper. And he kept the facade until temptation dethroned him down on Melbek III.

Calls completed, she changed back into her Vulcan attire, so she could act as the silent lookout once again.

  
  
  
Stricken, Commander Blaedel asked Sohja to repeat her story. The only thing that kept Kirk from finding her claims incredible was his memory of Commander Olsen, on the stand, telling the court how she’d written that recommendation letter for Seltun, not Radovitch.

That Sohja could deliver a name, face, and place of employment for this Demetria Powell-Cordoba was a huge win in the prosecution’s favor. She signed off on her statement and as she handed the data padd off to the attorney, Enterprise rumbled and the overhead lights dimmed before switching over to emergency illumination.

“Captain Cody to Captain Kirk.” The PA echoed.

He went to the comm panel and hit the switch. “Kirk here, go ahead.”

“We slammed on the brakes a little too hard that time. It created a power feedback to the crude collector array. My guys got things set up so if that happens, the ship goes into preservation mode. Keeps the electrical systems from becoming overwhelmed by the surge and failing. It won’t be thirty minutes before engineering gets us back online.” Billie more or less placated the black hole of worry he dragged around. “Don’t feel like you need to rush back up here right away. Finish with legal and make sure that rotten bastard winds up buried under the jail.”

“Acknowledged.” He liked that she didn’t try to tell him not to worry or that things were perfectly, acceptably fine. Where someone else would say anything to placate him and keep the experiment going no matter what, Billie remained transparent.

“If you need to speak with Ellis Gaines, he asks that he have his attorney present, lest his former employer learns something they take him to litigation over.” Sohja said.

Kirk was thinking Sohja’s talents were wasted at Companies House. She would have made an amazing lawyer or criminal investigator. He bet she got job offers all the time with signing bonuses big enough to make a marble statue’s eyes water and turned them down without considering the position.

“We’ll get that from you later if we need it.” Every time this woman brought information to Blaedel, his demeanor grew lighter and he acted as though this ordeal would come to a satisfactory end with another courtroom victory.

Another statement signed, Sohja had to return to whatever furtive activities Sarek and T’Lal had planned. Kirk let her get a few steps up the hall before catching up with her.

“Captain?” She kept walking, moving faster than Kirk when his mind tossed up the memory of the first video link where Sohja and Joe were introduced to the entertainment seekers in Rec Room 2. The producer clattered on about her shoes, seamed stalkings, and. . . He wished Bones good luck.

“You’ve got an eye for details and the tenacity to not lose interest in an investigation when things slow down or go nowhere. Ninety days, that’s all it takes, and I could put you in any department on this ship and Enterprise would be all the better for it.” He wanted to give her something to think about. “You already work directly for the Federation. Moving to a Starfleet posting is practically a lateral transfer. Based on what I know of your background, you’d be like Tralnor, and come in as a Lt. Commander.”

“Yours is the second offer I have entertained in as many days, James. As I said to Sarek yesterday, I do not believe that I would be a good fit in this environment. In human parlance, I am too quirky.” She slowed and let him move up beside her.

“If you didn’t do well here, your so-called quirkiness is the last reason I can think of for a failure.”

“Officer Candidate School is ninety days. The sum of that training, plus the transit time back to San Francisco and the days it will take us to get to Pezig’s Gate, complete our task, and return to Starbase 21 is in the realm of four to five months. This ship, with you in place as the ultimate authority, is putting in at dry dock in under a year. If one takes nothing but time constraints into consideration, I am a poor choice to become a member of your crew.” As far as let-downs went, this wasn’t terrible in comparison to what some former/potential romantic partners said to him.

“Well, I tried.” Kirk said. He thought she’d continue on her way, so when she stopped and replied, he wasn’t anticipating what she had to tell him.

“What are the benefits you would derive by taking me on as a member of your crew?” Suspicion lingered in her eyes.

He tried on his charming expression, unable to tell if she was warming up to him. “We both know that I’ve got a huge amount to learn about Vulcans and I need all the help I can get. Dr. Tralnor isn’t going to be here when I turn Enterprise over to the shipyards. He’s already halfway through his tour. He’d be the one I’d go to for guidance, but if I had someone like you aboard, then maybe I can create a chance to save things with Spock.”

Her brow rose while she internally questioned his motives.

“Can I get you a coffee and pick your brain while you’re still here?”

“Make it a vodka martini and I will grant you an audience.”

He knew exactly how to make that happen and that meant he’d have Bones right there to keep him on the straight and narrow. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  
  
  
The doctor passed a diagnostic tool off to Joan Patel and met his incoming guests. His automatic reaction to anyone entering his workspace was to give them a quick visual once-over to evaluate that nothing was wrong. Jim was fine and Sohja? Well, he might have given her a more thorough inspection than he did the captain.

“Jim, Sohja, can I safely guess that this isn’t a medical call?”

“Darn it, Sohja.” Kirk played along. “He’s figured us out.”

“I was informed that you are the person to whom one enquires if they seek a two-olive martini.” She looked him up and down, no suggestion of what she thought of him. McCoy took that as a good omen. He knew how the Vulcan stink-eye presented and she didn’t have it.

“Sounds like the little birdy you’ve been talking to was right.” The interaction with this person was so different than when he cracked heads with Spock. While he found Sohja intimidating, she wasn’t argumentative or deliberately obtuse just to make his blood pressure spike. He thought he’d try to flirt a little and say something he’d never dream of asking Enterprise’s first officer. “Shaken or stirred?”

Sohja met his wry half-grin with a tilt of her head. “As I am neither English nor a spy, I leave that detail to the bartender’s discretion.”

McCoy found himself laughing. Witty and gorgeous, to think he still had a chance to spend a night with her. . . “About the only thing I keep down here in the office is a bottle of whiskey. Anything else, that’s in the liquor cabinet in my quarters.”

“What are we waiting for?” Kirk turned around and plowed directly into Christine Chapel. Was the nurse eavesdropping? “Sorry about that, Christine. I didn’t know you were there.”

“Chris?” McCoy didn’t like this development. “Something the matter?”

The blond’s chest heaved as she cast daggers at Sohja.

“Nurse Chapel?” The captain nudged her.

“I don’t remember.” Christine warbled just above a whisper. “Not with her here.”

“I’d get back in that office if I was you.” McCoy wanted her to move on.

“A husband, a boyfriend, and my boss?” Christine said to no one before she left for her assigned space. “ _Fornicator_. . .”

“I see what you mean, Bones.” Jim drowned out the rest of Chapel’s rant at Sohja. “Nineteen more days.”

“Not soon enough.” The doctor was at a loss. Three more weeks of this bullshit? Hopefully, he had the sanity to deal with it.

“And I don’t believe for one second that you haven’t screwed Mr. Hollywood’s brains out.” That damned nurse had come back!

“You’re confined to quarters for the rest of today.” McCoy was done. “Go on, get out.”

The human woman moved in on the Vulcan. Christine did not appreciate that Sohja could turn her into dust. “He only said that to throw me off.”

“Do you need a security escort, Chris?” He showed too much lenience with Chapel because he felt sorry for her. She was like an abused dog trying to curry favor from his master, seeking love from the wrong people.

“Your gluttonous ways would make that man, any man, cave to your charms.” Nurse Chapel finally wised up and exited the sick bay.

“You might want to warn your unique friend to guard his virtue around that one.” Jim made a face like the nurse made his head hurt. “Damn, I need a drink.”

“Let me get the both of you fixed up.”

“That’s my good man, Bones.”

  
  
  
“Joe has explained the concept rather well, James.” Sohja’s opinion on Kirk’s comprehension and ability to make a good partner for Spock was nowhere near as dismal as Sarek’s, but it wasn’t optimistic either. After participating in the meld with T’Lal, Sohja saw someone who, once he got his own demons rounded up and addressed, might have the emotional control and wherewithal to make a proper go at a relationship. “You have more questions?”

McCoy shook his head. “Good God, Jim. If we’d have known about this two years ago, we might not have had to take that little side trip to Vulcan on our way to Altair IV.”

“Would that have worked, me and him like that?” Positive or negative, her response to that question would throw James.

“Most likely, yes. You are mentally compatible enough with Spock to soothe the fires.” She said.

“I should have said something sooner. I wasn’t aboard the Enterprise a full year before I knew he was the one.” Kirk screwed up the courage to ask about the next point on his list. “How do you tell when one of these bonds happens? Joe, how did he know it happened with you?”

“He learned of it the night of my wedding.” She felt the men’s overall mood darken, Mollie’s name sniped from the Iowan’s brain. “The reason he was not informed previous to that was two-fold. First, I was only dimly aware of this kind of bond. It was my future husband who picked up on it and explained what was going on. Second, I thought putting off the revelation would spare Joe any additional anguish. Had he found out before the ceremony, I felt there was a danger that he might become rash and—”

“I wouldn't think he’d go after your old man, but I’ve been wrong about people before.” McCoy said.

“My husband and I did not want him to bring harm upon himself. Joe does not lash out. He turns his pain and despair inward where he thinks he cannot be a burden to others.” Sohja took the last swallow of her drink, the taste of vodka and vermouth lingering on her tongue.

“After the meld with you, Joe, and T’Lal, the three of you would let me know if there was a t’hy’la bond, right?” Expecting to hear that the start of something was in his mind, Kirk immediately entered into a state of agitation when she told him nothing was there. “It’s still possible? _Right_?”

Sohja agreed with James’ reach, that yes, it was conceivable that he and Spock might yet join together that way. “There is a caveat.”

“Is nothing simple or straightforward with you people?” McCoy put his hands up in bewilderment.

“Spock can choose to have a psionic block put in place that inhibits his mind from subconsciously reticulating with yours.”

James slumped over, where he said, “I was afraid of that.”


	111. Chapter 111

_It will take us weeks to search this place if we do not find the box right away_ , Veddah thought as he realized just how big the administrative center was. The small city would overwhelm the two of them. He was concerned for Laura, wishing her the stamina to take on this last segment of the hunt. What of her crew aboard the Sweetness? She’d given a timeframe which, due to the daunting scale of this quest and her illness, had lapsed. Silvio made his opinion known every few hours, riling Captain Hillyard and easing into a not-so-theoretical stretch in the brig.

Propped on the front passenger side fender, where he could see her clearly in the natural light, Laura was sallow, depleted, and balding. Hoskins’ claim that her sickness and the accompanying spike in body temperature triggered her hair loss sounded absolutely plausible. Veddah, for whatever unknown reason, didn’t believe in this rational assessment of her symptomology. Hoskins was a contemptible human being, but he was a competent practitioner. Still. . .

“Penny for your thoughts?” Her conjunctivae, waxen instead of a healthy pink, was too reminiscent of the corpses of the crewmates he’d helped to bury.

“What is a penny?” He searched through his self-contained knowledge of human idioms and vernacularisms. “I have heard the phrase before, derived the meaning of the question from context, that if you had such an object you would be willing to give it to me in exchange for what is on my mind.”

“Pennies were a part of the hard currency some countries on earth used before we migrated to the system in place now. Once, pennies were worth something, but time passed and their face value plummeted until they were phased out of use and all we were left with was the question. It only took about three centuries for the earth to get there.” She shook a hank of loose hair off the cuff of her jacket and they watched the pale strands fall to the muddy ground.

Her hands and fingertips were cold, even for a human.

“I worry about you.”

“I know, Veddah.” She removed her hands from his and started to rub them together to stimulate circulation. “But, we’re almost done with this shit. We’ll leave the instant we find what we’re looking for.”

He wasn’t confident she could make it that far.

  
  
  
“I don’t need a nap.” He wasn’t defensive, simply stating his own appraisal of his mentally and physically draining empathic abilities. “One more house.”

Sha’leyen shared her doubt. “And another after that. You can’t fool us with hollow statements. We are leaving now.”

(Knock him out if you have to, Spock.) Mollie switched modes of communication. “This will all be here tomorrow after you’ve gotten some sleep.”

As a group, they herded Tralnor up the street to where they’d parked No. 742. When it began raining again, they ran for their vehicle, everyone piling in except for Spock. He hesitated, looked over his shoulder, and sought some detail from the dead cityscape.

Mollie poked her head out. (What’s wrong?)

(I thought I heard a ground car, but I cannot tell because of the noise of the rain.) He got in and Sha’leyen made for their overlook camp. “Fly us over the northwestern sector. We might have visitors.”

“That’s just fucking wonderful.” Tralnor held his temples.

“I’m going to gamble that we’re being checked on by some of Portman’s people. He’s too worried that we’re sewing gold nuggets into the hems of our clothes to let us be completely on our own.” Mollie thought their slovenly government contact was behaving within normal parameters for a greedy, lazy bureaucrat. “Backcountry rangers.”

“I have to delay that fly-by. A combination of lightning, downdrafts, and an aft horizontal stabilizer that’s giving me some minor issues, we could wind up as dead as the people who used to live here.” Sha’leyen brought the shuttle around and made for their roost.

“Did you sense anyone else, Tralnor?” Mollie wanted her guess to be right.

He didn’t show his face. “No. If other people are here, they were too far away for me to suss when I was so consumed by what everything in our immediate area was trying to tell me. I wish I knew.”

Mollie didn’t settle into her seat. She thought, _Please let it be people who work for the local government_.

  
  
  
Barely visible in the obstruction put up by the inclement weather, Laura watched the shuttle rise and retreat from the corpse of the ancient city. “There goes our competition.”

“Are you certain? That does not look to be a Starfleet shuttle.” Veddah followed the craft with his eyes.

“Just because three of the four are Starfleet officers doesn’t mean Mallia, her family, or Spock’s father didn’t set them up with some civilian rig.” Field glasses extricated from their case, she tried to get a better look. Blurry, Veddah was right, it wasn’t from the Enterprise. “My guess is that they got their hands on some kind of corporate thing. Maybe a Boeing Business or a FreeStar Exec?”

“I am ignorant of private executive transport.” Like most people, he had no reason to recognize or differentiate the sorts of shuttles that ferried overpaid morons around.

“In my line of work, I’ve had to chase down a fair few. Sometimes it was for the people on board, but mostly it was to liberate information and cargo.” Laura could hack the security systems on a FreeStar in about three-and-a-half minutes, less if the owners/operators/passengers didn’t engage the “high-level” protocols.

“Do you believe they have found the box?”

She didn’t think so. “I’m betting that they’re overwhelmed by this as much as we are. All we can do right now is pray that we trip over the artifact before they do.”

Weather report keyed up on the center console, they had at least an hour to wait until the rain let up. Laura told Veddah that the easy part of the search was over. “I choose to believe this is our time to shine, Veddah. We’re going to scramble the fuck off this rock, treasure in hand.”

He lacked her optimism. “We will leave and immediately seek proper medical attention for your affliction.”

“Veddah, I can’t—” She shut her mouth when he cut her off. Listening to him, whether she agreed with what he had to say or not, would keep him more evenly keeled.

“I need a tacit promise from you, A’duna. When we have the box you are reporting to the nearest surgery.” He was of a mind that refused to accept losing her to poor health, not when that was a process where sentients had the technology and scientific backgrounds to interfere against all manner of illness.

She tried to act like she was considering his directive and invoked silence on the matter.

“Promise me.” He sent his fingers to trace the outline of her jaw.

This was simple back when looking out for herself was a matter of telling others to fuck off, leave her alone, and let her be in licking her wounds or sleeping something off. The mystery ailment wracking her body, like the ice pick someone from the AVDL wanted to stab through her brain, brought harm to her, of course. It was the havoc it unleashed on Veddah that made this issue worthy of an oath.

“You have my word, Adun.” She said. “I promise.”

  
  
  
_It was never. . . I’m sorry. . . to hurt you_. . .

The words of USS Enterprise’s captain infiltrated Spock’s meticulously constructed meditative trance. The Vulcan catapulted into awareness of his physical setting. Knuckle-swelling damp gnawed on his fingers and laid absolute waste to his toes. How his people survived on this planet for over two centuries was beyond his knowing.

He hesitated to capitalize on Tralnor’s time and psionic abilities, but this unpredictable, emotive, multi-lightyear spanning cry for forgiveness burrowed through him, destabilizing his peace of mind. On the flight into the backcountry, the younger man said something about blocking Kirk out. He needed this to be true.

. . . _begging you to let me back in. . . a lot to learn. . . can’t live without you. . . Spock, please_. . .

(T’Kehr, I seek instruction.) Spock would take them from the shuttle to Sha’leyen’s tent where she’d established their searches’ nerve center if that kind of privacy was involved.

Tralnor closed the volume of Sha’leyen’s library that he was consulting. (What am I teaching you?)

Spock halted and considered the question. Tralnor wasn’t asking about a technique or procedure. The Lyr Saan T’Kehr needed confirmation that Spock had come to this decision of his own free will and that he wasn’t wanting to shut out Jim Kirk as a form of retaliation.

He looked within, gauging the details of the transgressions that brought him to this point. Spock did not want revenge or turnabout of any strain against the human man who’d stomped his heart into the deck plates. The distractions brought about by Jim’s soulful pleading were such that it had the potential to get Spock killed in this moribund landscape still so riddled with artifacts of malice. Add to that, Kirk and the Enterprise inbound to Pezig’s Gate, and Spock did not want to see his captain make a fatal mistake because he was too caught up in trying to get his first officer’s attention.

(I ask that you teach me to form a telepathic block against the far-reaching mind of the man who might very well have become my t’hy’la.) Was this it, the ignominious conclusion to a stunted romance?

As Tralnor entered his mind, Spock knew this was the right choice.

  
  
  
“You don’t feel anything on your end? You’re sure?” Kirk managed between bites of generic casserole.

“I’m a psi-null, Captain Jim. The only time I know she’s in my head with me is when she desperately needs to get my attention or we’ve set up a formal meld.” Joe didn’t seem interested in eating. “It's pretty much a one-way street for me. The other day, in sick bay, when T’Lal had Dr. McCoy run that test, and my mind reached out to Sohja’s, I didn’t even know it happened.”

“But the bond is there, right?”

“It’s there.” Fork placed on the table, Joe said, “I can’t give you any more detail than that. It took a lot of years beyond university for either of us to learn we were more than just friends.”

“I need to—Sohja said that Spock and I, our minds were highly compatible. She wouldn’t hide it from me if—” The captain hated asking.

Disbelief shadowed Joe’s face. “She’d never lie about something so important.”

“I said _hide_.” Kirk blinked at the difference in word choice. “Vulcans don’t lie.”

Eyes down and to the left, brow raised, Joe acted like he might start laughing. “Telling big whoppers isn’t in their nature, never has been. They are however known to occasionally leave certain fine points out of things and give the appearance of telling the absolute, blatant truth. Modern Golic doesn’t have a word for lie. Old Lyr Saan has epekalar kath’va, which more or less means undisclosed details.”

“So, she wasn’t concealing anything when she said he’s not in here with me.” Kirk barely touched the side of his head.

“Sorry, Captain. If she said a bond wasn’t there—”

“Then it’s not there.” The expected spike of guilt and sadness didn’t merit concern when it was just noticeable and didn’t level Jim to the floor. Hurt, but still capable of rational thinking, he said, “Not that I deserve it anyway. I’ve done too much damage.”

“I have a proposition.”

“What’s that, Bergman?” Kirk wondered what to do with himself until Billie needed him back on the bridge.

“A game of chess to help get your mind off the subject of relationships.” Joe exited the officer’s mess and Jim shortly followed.

  
  
  
This wasn’t like going against Spock or even Tralnor. Joe had tells and other subconscious body language that left Kirk questioning his every move. Where one might think a Vulcan opponent shattered confidence in a game that seemed like it was invented for their calculating minds, Joe was far more unnerving.

“You play like a bull rampaging through a china shop. This is a battle of brute strength on your end.” Joe was losing to the captain’s unorthodox approach, unable to predict and counter future moves because Kirk followed no known strategy. “I bet you drive Spock absolutely crazy by doing this.”

 _You have no idea_ , Kirk thought, as he moved his bishop down to the first level, confounding the movie producer. “I live by the mantra that no-win situations don’t exist and I toss everything I can think of at a problem until something, even the most outrageous responses, break down walls. You can’t win against poor odds if you’re predictable.”

“Even though I haven’t known you that long, that seems like a very James Kirk philosophy.”

Jim felt a sly smile coming on. Finally, he had the better of this oddball who made a living that capitalized on people’s abilities at playing make-believe. He pulled back on the smug-face. “Oh, fuck.”

“What is it?” Joe showed concern at Kirk’s sudden disengagement with the game and his state of mine.

“ _Seeking Proper Points from Leadership Figures_.” Kirk recited the title of the book he’d been told to read. “I bet there is nothing in there that suggests the way to win people over is to dazzle, distract, and use a battering ram to break down barriers.”

“And?” The filmmaker prodded.

“Maybe he’d respond better if I followed a workable example.” _Just think of this as another way to win, Jimmy_.


	112. Chapter 112

Sohja emerged from the bathroom to see that Joe was in for the night. Another day closer to their confrontation with a vicious specter from the past, her anticipation continued to build. She was glad to have a friend along on this bizarre journey, realizing as she had that thought, their positions were the other way around. She’d been the friend inducted into the fold. “What are you so pleased about?”

“I finally got Kirk to want to read _Seeking Proper Points from Leadership Figures_.” Joe considered that a worthy accomplishment and she was inclined to agree.

“It is lamentable that he has taken this long to come to that conclusion.” She sat on her bunk so they could look at one another. In her line of work she’d come across some of the most petty and abrasive humans alive, but James T. Kirk was of a unique breed.

“He’s stubborn and used to being the person calling all the shots, captain of his own domain if you will.” Joe kicked off his shoes and put his feet up.

“That describes him well.” She mimicked her friend and extricated her feet from the peep-toed footwear she favored.

“You think he’s a lost cause, don’t you?” Joe leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. “I mean sure, he’s said some shitty things to me, but who cares? In hoity-toity circles I’ve got what’s called a strong personality. I instigate that kind of bristly ire from a lot of people. But, and this is where he’s different from the usual people who tell me to get fucked sideways with a pineapple, he wants to make progress. That’s got to stand for something.”

“Wanting is not enough. James must make proper inroads for his desires to have any chance of success. As you are human and in a similar situation regarding your personal lives, I initially thought he would take to you and emulate your example.” Stockings unclipped, she slid them off one at a time, giving Joe a quick show she knew he’d appreciate. “I did not account for his all-encompassing jealousy so grossly tainting his perception of an ally.”

“We humans have a fucked up way of always wanting to take the path of least resistance. It’s got to be some stone-aged thing that worked well when not wanting to become a dire wolf’s dinner that only trips us up now. Even the smartest monkeys still follow their instincts.”

“You are more accommodating in your regard than I.” Now lounged on her side and staring right at Joe, Sohja said, “He degrades you as less than a man because I will not sleep with you. He thinks you have given up too much of your humanity in fulfilling your needs for mental stability and companionship. He wants Spock to bend to his will. There is not yet room in his life for more than one person at the peak of his hierarchy of importance.”

“I'm okay, Sohja. He hasn’t thrown anything at me that I haven’t heard a hundred times from people like Scooby Barstow.”

“Barstow is an insult to the lowest dregs of your people.” She did not like that others felt so entitled as to berate Joe for waiting on certain experiences. Those jabs and insults said more about the bruises on their egos than Bergman’s choice of what he wanted to do with his own body and mind. “If I knew with certainty that I would not damage you, I would have allowed for a sexual—”

“I know.” Joe let his love and understanding flow to her whether he realized what he was doing or not. “I’m not holding it against you, Sohja. Just because all these other assholes think their dicks would shrivel and fall off if they were in my position, who’d blame you for their desiccated penises, I’m not holding either of us to what anyone else wants for their own lives.”

“I am grateful that we remain friends.” Her long-term observations of human behavior marked Bergman as an outlier amongst his species. She liked to believe that Joe would never go the Jim Kirk route of covetousness.

She felt him smile at her. “Too bad not everyone can share our type of success, some folks being star-crossed and the like.”

  
  
  
Upon discharge from sick bay, the lads installed Sarah in Dr. Tralnor’s empty bunk. In order to keep her from the clutches of that homicidal nurse, Seltun finagled a temporary transfer from geology to bioarchaeology. Billy the Sixth was able to get the same for Sarah, effectively hiding her in T’Kehr Sha’leyen’s territory during the day. The only time she’d not have one of these men at her side was bathroom breaks and even then they’d be hovering outside the door.

She tried not to feel weird about taking over her beloved teacher’s space. Wedged between the mattress and the slats of the bunk overhead, the corner of an envelope peeked out. Working it loose, she was floored to see _For Sarah_ written across the front.

“Oooh, what’s that?” Chris O’Dell perked up for the first time in days. He was desperately missing his roommate with whom he’d developed a genial friendship.

Other faces turned toward her, seeking to know what was in her hand. Billy the Sixth spoke. “It looks like Dr. T left you a message. I hope we weren’t supposed to get it to you days ago. We didn’t touch any of his stuff out of respect.”

“Let’s see.” She snaked her index finger under the part of the flap that lacked adhesive and tore through the paper packet. Three pages, taken from the ruled notebook he used in Rec Room 2, were covered in Modern Lyr Saan, all scribed by his steady hand. Sarah read the note three times, folded it back up, and stuck it up her left sleeve.

“We’re all gagging to know. Did he leave you something important?” Billy didn’t bother to hide his excitement.

“I’m glad Biltmore and Avery aren’t here or they’d pester me to the ends of the universe. . . I can’t divulge the contents.” Sarah’s brain fogged with the anticipated battery of questions the lads would toss at her. Disappointed faces flanked her. “The only people I can talk to about this are Captain T’Lal, Ambassador Sarek, Captain Kirk, and Captain Cody.”

Rohit Gupta started to object and she warned him off. “It’s not my choice. I’m honoring the directive I was given.”

  
  
  
Her husband’s face twisted and eyes slammed shut as he fought back tears. “ _Stop. I have to stop_.”

Laura did exactly as he said. She’d known he wasn’t ready, but he’d wanted to try. Out of his lap, she pulled their unzipped sleeping bag up so they didn’t have to face this reaction while completely nude. He got sat up where he hung his head in shame.

“Veddah?” She was almost afraid to touch him but still reached over to offer him a hand as support.

“I am sorry, Adun’a.” He wiped at his cheeks and swallowed hard, the flashback of what she’d done to him blazed in his mind.

“No.” She let her wretched actions thrash around her head. “Please don’t say that.”

“I have to push past the residue left by these incidents that were out of my control. It was a physical encounter that I should have moved beyond as I am fully capable of making love to you.” He clenched his hands and shuddered.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder doesn’t much resolve on its own.” She held her arms open so she might collect an embrace and start bridging the chasm of pain she’d caused them both. With Veddah wrapped around her and the heat pouring off his skin, Laura let her cheek rest against his. In his ear, the lightest whisper, she reminded him, “ _It’s not your fault_.”

  
  
  
The dawn of a new day lit the windscreen and portholes on No. 742. No one had sneaked away during the night and Spock emerged from his sleep clear-headed and not besieged by another man’s words. It was close to a decent morning, only one thing nagging him that he wished would go away.

He’d heard of his current affliction being called morning wood and failed to see the humor in being unable to start his day until his erection went down. Three choices, let it take care of itself, use his hands, or wake Mollie. Irritated that his body did this to him on occasion, he lay back and stared at the built-in reading lamps affixed in this part of the shuttle. Waiting it out seemed like the appropriate action.

In thought about the repair he and Sha’leyen would make to the aft horizontal stabilizer following breakfast, he didn’t pay attention to his physical being until a soft, cool hand moved across his skin, from the iliac crest to his. . .

(Mollie?)

(It seems you could use a little help.)

Wanting to say he was fine if left to his own devices, her practiced touch was impossible to argue against. Contrary to his typical demeanor, he tilted his head back into the pillows and let corporeal felicity and Mollie’s approval mend his battered emotions.

The Refraction Syndrome feedback of her pleasure deriving from his, he could make her orgasm without any deliberate touch on his behalf. Lack of vocalization gave the false impression of quiet within their side of the shuttle. Minds echoed in shared euphoria until the moment caught up with them and they drifted back to sleep.

  
  
  
Now that the experiment was underway and the Enterprise continued to operate within projected parameters, Buffalo Bill Cody didn’t have to spend her off-hours down in engineering. She rejoined Kirk in his quarters where they played one of her standbys, cribbage. When the game wrapped up, Billie stretched and tried to get her neck to pop. “You okay in there, Jimmy?”

He got the cards repackaged and thought about her question. “I’m not the best I’ve ever been, but I don’t want to kill myself either.”

“So, is that an improvement?”

“It's meant another day above ground. Make of that what you will.” Game items put away, Jim said, “It’s an improvement for some people, probably a black eye to others.”

“Well, I think you’re more even than before. Drastic mood swings and the baggage that goes with weren’t doing you any favors.”

As he was well aware. “Sarek and T’Lal, are they always so cloak and dagger? Is it different when you work with them separately?”

Billie gave a “who knows” look. “That depends on what they’re doing. This is as tightlipped as I’ve ever seen them. Right now, I’d say that the difference I’m observing isn’t that they don’t want to give you and me any information. Their family is involved and they don’t want to do anything that will put them into more danger. And it’s not just any family members that are caught up in this, it’s their kids.”

“I get the impression that T’Lal would do anything, go anywhere to help Tralnor. Not so much the same sentiment from Sarek regarding his son. I’ve been thinking—Why does it matter to Sarek who Spock winds up with when all Spock has ever been to him is a massive disappointment?” As far as battles between fathers and sons went, this was another for the ages.

“It matters because Sarek wants to see Spock with someone who’s going to both respect and rejoice in his boy’s inimitable background.”

“It’s not just because hating on me will get back at Spock for going with someone who’s not off the pre-approved list?” He’d never put that sentiment past the ambassador. “Maybe one human is one too many for the extended family?”

“You know, Jimmy, sometimes things aren’t as straightforward as they look.” That she would jump to Sarek’s defense was boggling.

“Enlighten me oh sage one.”

“Sarek’s biggest issue with his son is that they’re so damned much alike.” Billie said the dire opposite of what Kirk would have guessed.

“That’s not—I don’t see it, but I’ve heard his mom basically say the same thing.” He glanced at the time and figured he had about thirty minutes before he needed to be asleep, ready for another balls-out day of hurtling toward the unknown.

“I love Lady Amanda. She tells it like it is and I admire that.”

“She’s an amazing woman.” Jim thought Amanda Grayson deserved a medal for dealing with a lifetime of Vulcans and their hang-ups. “Another Sarek question.”

“What’s that?” She pulled her tunic off and tossed it on her open duffle bag.

“How can the ambassador put up with your buddy, Joe? He’s restless, loud, opinionated, and not the type I can see having a conversation on the same level. It reminds me of a professor and a carnie teaming up to save the world.”

“That, I can’t say. Different strokes for different folks?” Billie beckoned for Kirk to follow her into the sleeping area. Both of them stripped down into their underwear before climbing into his bed.

Sleep a near-instant state once their bodies warmed beneath the covers, Kirk wrapped an arm around his ex. “Do you regret that we didn’t make another go at our relationship?”

“Rarely.”

_That’s a definitive answer and an unexpected blow_ , he thought. “ _Oh_?”

“You’re a loving, learned, and good man, Jimmy. I think we’d eventually come out ahead, but neither of us wants to be tied down to any given place in the galaxy. We’re wanderers at heart whose careers wouldn’t let us be together outside of the both of us taking ground assignments and we’d wind up resenting the shit out of one another. That’s not healthy.”

“I like you too much to want to resent you. I only asked because sometimes I think that if you and I were still together that I wouldn’t have been such a selfish git and hurt my best friend.” He knew better than to play around too much with what-if scenarios.

“Or you’d be right where you are now, the only exception being you’d have a wife you’d never see and an unfulfilled relationship with your first officer.” She lay down and yawned. “While I adore being your agony aunt, I’ve got to get some rack time so I can keep a close watch on our diplomatic guests.”

“Of course.” He could tell he’d be out cold within seconds of his head hitting the pillows. “I don’t know that they’re guests more than they’re usurpers—”

She was gone before he could finish his statement.

“See you tomorrow, Buffalo Bill.” He rolled over and joined her in a well-earned slumber.


	113. Chapter 113

Bean soup and buckwheat pancakes for breakfast, made by T’Lal, meant none of the four of them had to play the _Is It Bacon, Again_? game that morning. Sohja, probably the least picky member of their group, after years of scavenging boardroom smorgasbords and rubber chicken hotel banquets, was quite pleased that she could tuck into this meal and not wonder what little surprises food service had added for extra fiber and/or flavor.

“We appreciate this, T’Lal.” Joe was visibly happy at the sight and smell of the food. “I like that we don’t have to check to make sure some trickster hasn’t slipped in a bunch of crap because they think it's funny to fuck around with someone’s restricted diet.”

“They sent our lunch up to the bridge yesterday.” T’Lal said as she ladled individual servings into bowls. “My cucumber and cheese sandwich ‘inexplicably’ arrived piled with shaved ham.”

“Typical.” The human accepted his soup and set it down near his coffee. "Good morning, Sir.”

Sarek, seemingly reticent today, didn’t respond. Sohja supposed the ambassador was contemplating their role at Pezig’s Gate.

“What are you going to do with all the spare time you’ll have today since you’re not helping him make calls to the string-pullers back home?” Joe, as per his previous demonstrable behavior, unconsciously filled the void in the lagging conversation.

“Sohja, do you have any experience with sidearms, knives, and close-quarters combat?” T’Lal sat with the rest of them and started her meal by tearing a pancake in half and spooning beans onto it before folding it over and taking a bite.

This question was weeks in the making. That she wasn’t posited by it before now, told her that T’Lal and Sarek believed she had the experience and acumen to take care of herself in sticky situations. “I have the ke-tarya training all Vulcan children go through and I am proficient at rapier/dagger contest.”

Sarek engaged with the group by asking about another form of martial arts. “Your knowledge of k’a’sum’i?"

She had, of course, heard of the style and that it trained its practitioners to kill by turning their own bodies into deadly weapons. “I have only read of it in passing.”

“Today we will build on your exposure and limited experience. As T’Lal must report for duty on the bridge, I will instruct you in varied methods so you may defend yourself to the greatest degree possible.” Sarek appreciated the extreme danger they were flying into, bringing Sohja a deeper awareness of the peril ahead.

  
  
  
They started in the commercial sector of the city just so they could avoid tangling with Spock and company. Laura didn’t want a confrontation, just to find the accursed little box and disappear. That didn’t mean she wasn’t above stealing it from them if they came upon it first, but for now, she and Veddah were searching old storefronts and retail spaces.

It was here that she saw things written in Ancient Golic. Signs, labels, announcements, the individuals who’d lived and worked here were legally and culturally accepted as people and thus got the luxury of using their own language in its more personable form. Administrator Script was stilted in a, for lack of better word in Laura’s mind, de-humanizing, overly formal, and bureaucratic way.

“Holy shit.” She said, stopping in an aisle once part of a food market. Eye-level, there were three rows of glass jars that contained the desiccated leftovers of fruit. “How the fuck did these people get their hands on _peaches_?”

Veddah came around from the opposite side. “Perhaps you have misread the content label?”

She handed him the dusty jar. “Kur-faf-zhar zihn-savas. _Pink-orange fuzzy fruit_. That’s what the modern name is too.”

“I would not venture into speculation about how pre-Reform Vulcans acquired anything, least of all a delicate fruit from the time of your Roman Empire.” Veddah gave back the container.

“I love peaches, absolutely my favorite. I don’t think I’ve had one in ten years.” She thought for a moment. “No, it’s been a lot longer than that. Tatyana got me three of them for my seventeenth birthday as a bribe to keep me in line and out of her hair. They have to be processed like these were or cryo-shipped, and that’s insanely expensive. You can’t synthesize them, they just don’t come out right and they’re too fragile to drag them to the ends of the Alpha Quadrant like you can with apples or grapefruit. I refuse to haul peaches because too many tiny things can destroy an entire shipment.”

Of all the weird and terrifying things to find at an abandoned prison, jarred peaches were not on Laura’s list of the remotely plausible. Returned to the shelf, she tried to forget the sweet treat and moved deeper into the shop. “Dried brined krinti-kham.”

“ _Disgusting_.” Veddah looked at the box she’d pointed at. “Krinti are carrion-eaters at best and mostly subsist on the refuse of Vulcan settlements.”

“So it would be like eating jerky made out of a junkyard dog.” It was hard to know if this was a delicacy or just the dregs of the pre-Reform interstellar food supply. “Yeah, that’s gross.”

Veddah looked up at the ceiling. “I hear a shuttle approaching.”

“Probably a fly-over looking for us.” She didn’t hear a thing. “I hope they don’t have thermal imaging capabilities on that bird.”

He bristled, ready to throw-down against anyone who tried to impede them. “I am relieved that we hid our vehicle from view.”

He’s the one who’d found the cave and parked there. They’d slept in the car last night and eaten cold pre-prepared pastries to avoid lighting a fire. She felt him take her hand and lead her toward the rear of the building where they huddled down in an office to wait for the threat to pass.

  
  
  
Sensors on the Gulfstream S2090 were for ease of navigation and tidy take-offs and landings. No.742 was never designed for use as a reconnaissance craft. Sha’leyen found the lack of useful options irritating. Starfleet shuttles, especially those of the like utilized by the Enterprise, could scan for lifeforms and differentiate by species, show the landscape in topographical relief, and highlight any particularly cool or warm spots that stood out relative to the surrounding space.

She and Spock moved No.742 as low and slow as they dared to avoid falling out of the sky. Skimming rooftops and seeing no evidence whatsoever that other people were visiting the administrative center, they were not wrong in thinking the Kennuk was alone in the city. No joy, and after an hour, Spock asked that she take them to Mollie and Tralnor.

“There are no obvious indications that we have been joined out here. Perhaps if we were not dealing with the possibility that Laura Hillyard has come to Pezig’s Gate, I might have the capacity to relax my concern.” Spock gave the news, such as it was, to the siblings who’d stayed behind at their camp.

“I’m sure she’s in the shadows somewhere nearby.” Mollie said. “No compunction against using deadly force to get what she wants from us. Sounds like it’s time to start packing.”

Spock and Tralnor went off to the administrative tent to have their own discussion about their long-ago and once-again adversary.

“As a police officer in London, I never carried a weapon and there were few situations when I thought I’d be better off with one.” That a single person instead of a gang or an army of hell-raisers made Sha’leyen feel like she needed armament, revealed a lot about Hillyard and the danger she posed. Stiletto secreted in a place on her body she could easily get to, she returned to the pilot’s seat. “I’ve got to power the shuttle up again so I can collect more data on that stabilizer.”

Mollie got in the cockpit beside her and continued with the subject of one freighter captain. “At least Laura is what she is and isn’t fueled by horror machinations of one of the most brutal and violent societies to have ever existed. She’s a bete noire genius, but ultimately, she’s an ordinary human being and that’s an asset for us.”

“Considering we find her before she unleashes the tavalik duv-tor.” The vehicle fired up, Sha’leyen immediately went to the monitor that told her how the horizontal stabilizers were working. A quick bit of research that morning told her and Spock that once the affected element started to go off-plumb that the way to fix it was to bring the shuttle in from the wilderness and have Gulfstream replace the worn parts and the entire sub-assembly that integrated them into the directional systems. The Kennuk would have to get used to manually making the adjustments while hoping they could get out of the backcountry before the damned thing ceased working completely, and take it to Gulfstream of Pezig’s Gate-Sandia to make sure No.742 was safe to take up and out of the atmosphere.

“Heaven help us if she gets it first.”

“Tralnor has told me that Laura has a particular interest in antagonizing you.” A quick assessment of the stabilizer and the repair was holding. “Why you? You are as human as she is.”

“Why does Laura Hillyard do anything?” Mollie shook her head. “I think she focused her attention on me because on paper we’re a lot alike, we should have been fast friends, but she didn’t like the advantages I had because of my status as a native-born Vulcan.”

“I would think that as an adult she’d let such childish things go.” Sha’leyen had worked with humans long enough to know that they weren’t particularly good at divesting grudges.  
“That’s never going to happen. She’s too wrapped up in the invalidation she felt when we were kids to not conflate her treatment with her affront of my very existence.” Where some individuals grew out of mindsets Laura was one of the ones who got stuck. Mollie said, “I looked human but I was an alien. . .”

“Mollie, I have never asked this and don’t answer if you don’t want to.” Depending on the response to this query, Sha’leyen’s understanding of Laura might expand to the Kennuk’s favor. “Are you in possession the same traits that manifested in the children and subsequent descendants of the human slaves that wound up on Vulcan?”

A weary glance in Sha’leyen’s direction, Mollie let off a small nod. “Yes, I’m _altered_. The ancient records are correct about the effects T’Khasi has on the developing human fetus.”

Sha’leyen’s comprehension multiplied. “Then I must seriously revise my previous statement. Laura’s anger and jealousy are because you are _not completely human_ , not at all.”

  
  
  
The sweet and putrid smell of death still permeated Cargo Bay 6. This was where the bodies disinterred on Melbek III were stored up until eighteen hours before Captain Cody took the Enterprise away from Starbase 21. There was no other choice but to work there because that space fit their needs better than any of the others potentially available. Sohja’s eyes watered as she struggled to keep her bearing in the cloud of decompositional odor.

“It’s easier if you breathe through your mouth.” Joe doubled back to convince her to leave the area closest to the door.

For a moment, she thought her stomach might turn. She accepted Joe’s outstretched hand and drew support from him to venture further into the room. When she thought she’d received her quota of unnerving news and events for the day, she set her sights on the table Sarek had waiting.

“Have you handled weapons of this kind?” The older man queried.

Her cheek twitched and she said, “No, Sir. I have not even held a phaser let alone fired one. And these on the table, these are from the pages of the history books.”

“I will start your instruction at the beginning.” Sarek shifted his eyes from side-to-side. “Mr. Bergman, check the door and see to it that it is locked.”

“Yes, Sir.” Joe wasn’t in a playful mood and followed the request immediately.

  
  
  
“What in hell is going on in here!” Buffalo Bill Cody hollered while propelling herself into Cargo Bay 6. Kirk was right on her heels and felt his jaw fall open at what they saw. Sohja leveled her weapon at a target set at the opposite end of the room. She set off the firing mechanism and the miniature explosion echoed. Kirk covered his ears and kept scuttling toward Sohja, Sarek, and Joe.

“I demand an explanation.” Billie planted her hands on her hips. “The crew is hearing strange noises, the environmental control system is reporting a sudden uptick in combustion gasses, and the engineers are running every diagnostic known to mankind to figure out what’s doing this. You’ve locked everyone out. _What the fuck, Sir_?”

“I must change my override passcode, as you have learned the full sequence.” Sarek said as though he was telling his wife he was taking the dog for a walk.

“We didn’t mean to scare your guys.” Joe said. “It’s just that—”

“Joe, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I’m not asking you.” She wasn’t Joe Bergman’s music and acting buddy right now. Billie was Captain Cody and she wanted sound reasoning for this shit. “Ambassador Sarek, start talking or we can have this conversation in the brig.”

Where Kirk thought he might see agitation or a bit of fury at Billie calling him out, Sarek showed only mild amusement regarding her threat, essentially daring her to arrest him. This was a side to Spock’s father Kirk hadn’t seen. “Sir, I’d regard what she’s saying as—”

Any good humor toward the command staff evaporated and Kirk was on the receiving end of one of the Ambassador’s legendary death glares. “I have heard Maeve’s ultimatum, Kirk. I do not need you to restate it.”

_Why do you have to be such a pissy old son of a bitch_? Kirk thought as he worked his jaw. 

The older Vulcan’s eyes revealed an element of cunning Jim had seen on Tralnor. Right now, he didn’t think he was looking at Spock’s father.

Jim barely had the time to wonder, _Oh fuck, what does that mean_?

“Kirk, I am a quote, a pissy old son of a bitch, because I am dealing with a needless interruption from you while I am attempting to instruct Sohja on the use of a weapon that may well save her life and my son’s.”

Billie drew back on her tough-gal stance. “Just tell us next time before you go off igniting a thousand rounds of cordite.”

About faced and striding toward the door, Kirk was left alone to blow in the wind for a few seconds. He didn’t say anything more to the Ambassador and fled after Billie. Returned to ship corridors, he said, “That’s it? _Tell us next time_? You’re not going let him walk all over like that, are you? He’s a diplomat, but you’re in charge here.”

“Jim, this isn’t about boundaries and a clash of professional offices.” Billie stepped into an open store cupboard, taking him, and closing the door behind them. “This is about that man in there being something other than what he ever wanted his child to see.”

“What? You’re not making any sense.”

“Jimmy, he’s in there teaching Sohja to kill.”

Mind suddenly floundering, he said, “I don’t—”

“T’Lal isn’t the only spook we’ve got on board.”


	114. Chapter 114

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my Wonderful Readers: Tomorrow, I will post Chapter 115 and this is going to mean that AO3 has caught up to where I'm at over at the K/S Archive. Sorry to disappoint anyone that chapters are now going to go up once a week, usually late Thursday nights or Friday mornings. Thank you for coming on this wild trip through the cosmos with me.
> 
> \--Oboe_dawn  
>   
> 

“How does this relate to what we were talking about last night?” Kirk wasn’t sure what to think of Billie’s revelation. How much of what he learned about Sarek would explain Spock’s world view? Or would he come away from this still thinking that his beloved’s dad was a giant dick?

“Sarek is on display for the whole galaxy to see, and for decades, he’s been the supreme example of the proper Vulcan. He wanted his son to emulate his achievements, follow the path to the top as a prince of his people.” Billie leaned against a rack of industrial mop heads. “Kids are canny and Spock knew his father purposely put some distance between them.”

“Is that what that’s called? Distance?” Jim grunted. “ _What the fuck ever_.”

“The Ambassador and T’Lal, together, for the most part, they operate as a team, take care of some of the—Vulcan has an ugly past.” She was struggling for the right words.

“Of which I’m well aware. But what’s it got to do with the price of bullets in China?”

“They’re sent out as cleaners, fixers, and searchers. Sometimes they have to do some very pre-Reform things to secure what they’re after, and we’re not taking petty assignments. The Alpha Quadrant is an exponentially safer place because of the work they’ve done.”

“How do you know this?” Kirk now wondered what else she was keeping from him. Her initial description of her pilot as a part-time spook was now barely accurate.

“Because over the past several years, I’ve put the pieces together.”

“So they haven’t come out and told you anything?”

“No, and they won’t.” She could tell he wasn’t buying her story. “Look, I’ve known T’Lal since I was nineteen years old and have had a lot of time to observe her. I’d only met Sarek in passing a few times until six years ago when I was briefly the XO/science officer aboard the USS Carter. Captain Strom assigned me to be the Ambassador’s aide while he was on board and we were ferrying him around. Robyn asked me to do that because she doesn’t trust Vulcans even the tiniest bit and knew I was familiar with their language and customs.

“Sarek was on his way to a treaty summit that was too close to the Romulan Neutral Zone for comfort. While there, he joined forces with T’Lal and they disappeared into thin air, leaving me to try to keep a handle on deteriorating talks. I somehow got through two days of that when they magically reappeared, both of them wearing different clothes and looking like they’d spent time in a rock tumbler.”

Dumbfounded, Jim felt his eyes bulge. “You don’t think. . .”

“I can’t prove it.”

“No, that’s crazy.” He tried some mental gymnastics to get his head around what she was saying. “You think they crossed over the Neutral Zone?”

“I don’t think it, Jimmy.” Her face was pure seriousness. “I know it. That wasn’t the first or last time they’ve gone.”

“Unbelievable.”

“It’s not about secretly trying to make diplomatic inroads or committing espionage. They’re after things, objects. I can’t even begin to guess the significance of this stuff other than it’s important enough to risk life and limb to bring it in.” Bewildered, she continued. “I must have held my own well enough at that summit so that when I got Wild West Show, I suddenly found a certain diplomat as my most frequent flyer.”

“I thought he usually had a private ship and an entourage.” Jim stepped back and put his hand onto a sealed bag of floor-cleaning goo. It squished and he snatched his arm back.

“I think he’s brought that moron Sajak along a couple of times. Other than that, Sarek is a single rider on my E-ticket attraction.”

“ _E-ticket_?” Where did she come up with some of this stuff?

“Sorry, old SoCal slang. So he’s mostly alone, we take him somewhere, T’Lal is typically waiting or on her way, Wild West Show hangs out for a few days and we do our sciencey things to kill time, he comes back, sometimes a little rough around the edges, and we take him to rejoin his staff or whatever.” Given those details, she closed, “That’s what I can tell you. It’s conjecture, but it’s true.”

“And Spock?”

“Sarek thinks the hypocrisy of the ultimate Vulcan being someone who has had to kill, cheat, lie, and steal to secure a future for his people, for all people, will devastate his son. And because they are so much alike, he doesn’t want to drop hints and have Spock figure it out on his own.” She didn’t like the answer, but it was what it was. “When you get right down to it, he’s just a dad trying to do good by his kid.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” He knew what she looked like when she wanted to add a detail or two onto a description.

“Yeah, and I can’t talk about it.”

“After what you just told me?”

“It’s the one thing about his relationship with Spock that he’s directly spoken to me about. I swore I’d keep it to myself.” She made a “sorry” face at him.

“Billie, you can’t leave me hanging like this.” He smiled and sprinkled on a little charm. “If this is something I can—”

“Not a chance, Jimmy.” She said, feeding the bullshit right back to him. “Not a chance in hell.”

  
  
  
Kirk had a lot to digest. He didn’t know if he understood Spock and Sarek’s parent-child dynamic any more than when he’d woken up that morning. What disturbed him at a Red Alert level was that Sarek was teaching Sohja how to take out targets with what looked like an older than dirt Browning 1911. Where was Enterprise going that projectile weapons were more useful than modern hand phasers?

Billie worked at getting the engineers settled down, preventing them from breaking into Cargo Bay 6 to “assess” and “take care” of the disconcerting bangs.

“It’s classified, Mr. Q’pik.” She repeated to her first officer. “It’s nothing to do with us, our project, or this ship.”

The tone of the Hoblian’s response said he felt he was deliberately cut out of an important command decision. “Understood, Captain Cody. Is there anything else you should want us to know about odd noises and chemical compounds?”

“That is a negative. Bridge, out.” She threw a switch and sent one of her screens to the main viewer. This one showed a graphical representation of power expenditures and relevant dilithium matrix wear.

Kirk read the screen, glad that all was merry in that regard. He heard Billie order the start of some other process that taxed the Enterprise and her propulsion systems in a specific manner. This living laboratory thing was turning out to be not much fun. It was too nerve-wracking to be fun. After this, he still wanted a ship where discoveries in science were going on all around him. He just didn’t want to be the experiment.

 _Billie calls it trying to be a good dad. I wonder if the real reason Spock and Sarek clash is that the good Ambassador doesn’t want to be caught up in a pack of lies that have only snowballed as the years have passed_? This went well beyond the obfuscation of minor details like Bergman discussed with Jim yesterday.

He looked at the back of T’Lal’s head, remembering the snippet from _Celluloid Vokaya_ where she signed off on Spock’s Starfleet induction, not Sarek. How did that go over in the ambassador’s household? What would Jim do if he found out his own father lived a second life as an operative? Would he think his dad was a two-face? What does it do to someone’s identity when the truth comes out that one of the pillars of childhood, the father, the masculine presence who helps build a boy into a man, is unmasked as a different person? If Jim was in Spock’s place, he’d probably not talk to Sarek for another eighteen years.

  
  
  
Back offices weren’t yielding any information about the box or the box itself. So, the last shop on the main retail thoroughfare was pleasantly surprising in its selection of cold/wet weather gear. Made out of artificial fibers, Laura and Veddah shucked out of their soggy clothes and changed into dusty but otherwise dry and warm outfits.

Veddah examined another jacket like the ones they’d put on. “This garment is insulated to a point where it might offer some protection against thermal imaging scans.”

“I like these better than I did just two minutes ago. Whoa—” Laura pointed up. “They must really want to find us.”

The executive shuttle, barely aloft, skimmed slowly above the shopping district. Veddah said, “They are paying undue attention to this area.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t find a way to sneak out the back.” She stayed well away from the windows and he mimicked her action. In yet another shopkeep’s area, they sought an exit. It was difficult to see in the dim light, even for Veddah’s superior vision.

He felt along a wall until his fingers landed on a fine seam. Running his thumbnail along the narrow groove, he thought he’d come upon a door. “Adun’a, please shine a torch on my hand.”

The unnatural vibration of a shuttle’s reverse thrusters put him and Laura on maximum alert. Light up, he saw he was correct. “A hidden portal.”

“Fuck, Veddah. That’s amazing.” She put her hands on the slab of concrete-like mockstone, scraping her fingertips over the area where a knob or closure of some variety was expected. The end of a sleeve wrapped around her hand, she rubbed, dislodging approximately two millennia worth of encrusted dirt. “Shit, they’re landing just up the street.”

“Then we must hurry.” He started applying pressure at strategic spots to see if it could be pushed. Recalling the door to his mother’s home office and the way it was on a pulley system instead of hinges, he leaned against it and used a palm to send it to his left.

“You’re magnificent!” Laura piled through the opening, Veddah’s arm around her shoulder.

“They have disembarked.” He heard boots in puddles, the sound growing in intensity. The door rolled closed, flushing with the surrounding wall. That he and Laura were in a corridor rather than a broom closet was a surprise.

“Where do you think it goes?” She cast the torchlight away from the door and all they could see was a long hall created from more poured mockstone, hundreds of tons of it.

  
  
  
Spock and Sha’leyen went up to the store first. The building appeared empty, but there was clear evidence that people had been in there very recently.

“This is the one, Tralnor?” Sha’leyen did not find fault with the psionic abilities that sounded the possibility that two humanoids were holed up in the former shop. It was Tralnor who doubted his own mind.

“Right here, yes.” He stepped up on the walk and looked in the building and followed up by trying to head right into a place that could very well house booby traps.

Mollie snagged him by the back of the collar. “You’re being a fungus again, little brother. Think before barging into creepy dark businesses that might be hiding a mass murderer who doesn’t know how to think twice about shooting someone.”

“He is not deliberately careless.” Spock said. “We will enter the premise together.”

“And examine any evidence left behind.” Sha’leyen took the six.

Five meters into the showroom/sales floor, Tralnor sniffed the air and traced an invisible trail to a blind behind which a pile of dirty wet clothes was hidden. “Laura was here, but. . .”

“Tralnor?” Spock prompted. “She is with Lt. Veddah?”

Reaching out and pinging back into his head, the music teacher glazed over for three slow seconds before rejoining the present. “Yes, and the lieutenant is currently unharmed.”

Glad for a speck of good news, the grim mood dissipated. Tralnor stood and rubbed his fingertips with the distal pad of his thumbs then he took up a piece of discarded clothing and waved it under his nose. “There is something sour in the air, and it’s from Laura. She’s gravely ill. This isn’t the biochemical output of a normal human being.”

“Laura’s never been normal. What is she sick with?” Mollie, while not a cheerleader of Laura’s, didn’t like hearing she was physically unwell.

Clenching the wet fabric of a tattered shirt, psionically probing the garment in his hands, Tralnor moved his head to the negative. “I don’t know what she’s got because neither she nor Veddah knows. The boy worries a great deal over her health.”

Sha’leyen attempted to psionically read the scene and only picked up a general feeling of dread. “Can you tell where they went?”

“Some of these walls are impregnated with wyantium and it does interfere with psi abilities. When I try to feel around, I’m not getting past certain barriers. Laura and her companion have been here and gone.”

“Wyantium? I didn’t think it was discovered until about a century ago.” Mollie tried to think and give some sense to Tralnor’s description.

“I do not know any different.” The first officer drew a blank.

“Then the stories my adopted grandfather told about kash-netehnovayek have a basis of truth.” Sha’leyen chose the closest wall, put her open palm to its dingy surface and sent mental filaments at the inanimate object. Stymied, she pulled back. “Mind inhibitor is all I ever heard it called. It’s a soft brownish-grey metal that is mined in maybe three places in the whole quadrant. It was very valuable in the secrets and incarceration businesses. I can rightfully see it in use out in the prison proper, but in a clothing store?”

Another barricade left behind by the dead, the Kennuk investigated the building still finding nothing but a pile of smelly wet clothes.


	115. Chapter 115

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You're now caught up on _The Mair-rigolauya_ to the point where I am posting new chapters at the K/S Archive. I'll be dropping new chapters once a week, on Fridays, for the rest of this novel. Thank you for your dedication and support.--Oboe_dawn
> 
>   
>    
> 

The hall sent them in one direction, no side corridors or other doorways back into the city’s structures. Laura was encouraged that the air was still breathable, meaning ventilation and therefore some kind of connection to the outside.

She guessed they’d walked about three-quarters of a kilometer when a dark void appeared ahead. After considering a joke about hoping they weren’t walking up to bottomless pit, Laura kept her mouth shut and they exercised some caution while encroaching on the void.

Determining there wasn’t a trap door and they weren’t going to fall off the edge of a cliff, they set over a threshold into a massive room. It felt like it had the dimensions of a mega-hauler’s cargo area because their puny light source didn’t have the candlepower to penetrate the breadth of the space. Unsure if it was safe to cross straight through, they chose to skirt the wall leading off from their right. Tracing the perimeter was longer but less foolhardy.

“Adun’a, do you hear it?” Veddah spoke softly.

“No. I don’t hear anything.” _Not with my human ears_ , she thought.

“This space has an active power supply.” Again, hands flat to a wall, he followed something that didn’t register to Laura’s duller senses. “And an activation panel.”

She leaned over an arm and shined the torch on Veddah’s find. Directives printed in the Administrator Script, she read off the instructions to get Veddah through the process of routing the room to auxiliary backup. Temporarily blinded, they squinted against the light until their eyes adjusted.

“ _Extraordinary_.” Veddah took a moment to believe what his eyes told him.

“Welcome to Aladdin’s Cave.”

  
  
  
“One cannot feel ambivalent about the use of these skills.”

Clothes sweat-stained, a little bruised, and absolutely showing the wear and tear of her day, Sohja nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“And when it seems like you are completely overwhelmed and facing certain defeat, draw from deep within and finish your fight. You are one of the few whom the galaxy can depend on to protect them from endless death and destruction as sown by our ancestors.” Tired after hours of constant exertion, Sarek acted like he could fall asleep where he stood. “Do you understand?”

This was the real job he’d recruited her for in the previous days. “I understand, Sir.”

“I hope you get now why I couldn’t tell you everything about all this. I didn’t know how involved T’Lal and Sarek would want to get you.” Joe had finished putting the wicked tools of her new trade into a black suitcase. She’d originally been brought in on this to relay information and do some light nosing around. When that shifted to taxi duty and babysitting, the elemental danger of the mission had nothing to do with those tasks.

“I expected there were valid reasons for holding back and that it was not in my prerogative to demand covert details from you.” She regarded Joe in something of a new light. “That you are willing to make the same sacrifices as the rest of us for a problem that has everything to do with my people nothing to do with you—”

“You are my people, Sohja. You, and Mollie, and Buffalo Bill, and Tralnor, and Spock, and even Ambassador Scary Uncle over here, are all my people. My parents are dead, my grandparents are dead, every person in my immediate and extended family, they’re all gone. Jock, and Paulette, and Amelie Grace, they’re gone too. So, that means I have the capacity to choose my people and the honor that some of them choose me back.” Joe set a hand on her forearm. “The tavalik duv-tor, that’s my problem just as much as it’s yours.”

“Mr. Bergman is correct.” Sarek tried to take hold of the suitcase so they could be on their way to the mess hall for dinner only to have Joe swat him away and repossess the heavy rolling bag. “Though he is presumptuous as to the limits of my physical endurance.”

Joe faked a cough. “ _Bullshit_.”

The two men shared the briefest knowing look, then all three of the departed the cargo bay.

  
  
  
McCoy watched Jim as he watched Sarek and Captain T’Lal. Kirk was kicking something around in his head that served to make him jumpy. “You look like you’re trying to imagine the old man’s head on a platter with an apple in his mouth.”

“That’s the least he deserves.”

“Do you care to explain that remark, Jim?” Kirk’s scathing regard left McCoy worried for his friend. “Jim?”

“It was on purpose, Bones.”

Was it time to escort Jim from the mess under the false pretense that he was needed elsewhere? “You’re going to have to drop me a line. I’m not even operating with half a deck over here in concerned friend land.”

“He pushed Spock away on purpose.” Kirk tossed his napkin into the center of an untouched plate of low fat, low carb, fake meat lasagne. “He wanted to cover his own ass, hide his life of lies, and tried to force his son to uphold impossible standards that even the great ambassador refuses to follow. And he has the balls to tell me that I’m a destructive influence in Spock’s life? Maybe he should try looking in the fucking mirror.”

“Jim—Do not confront that man, not here in front of your crew.”

“Bergman gets to act all chummy and human. Somehow it’s endearing from that spastic, but gods forbid the son of Sarek should do the same.”

“Walk away, Jim.” McCoy stood and gripped the captain’s shoulder. “Right now.”

  
  
  
Alone. . .

Alone. . .

Alone. . .

“I’m going to die alone.” Jim told the walls of his empty stateroom. “I could be in a crowd of a million people and still die alone.”

And he was by himself as he ran his command override on a door mechanism. He didn’t hear the hidden machinery open the portal, and was unsure that he’d even crossed the threshold until the stars cleared from his vision and he came into awareness of the place he invaded.

Lights up, Spock’s quarters gave the impression of a museum exhibition hall. He walked up to the closet, compelled to hold something that touched the person he loved. A stark black meditation robe in hand, Jim laid it against his chest and played a round of pretend, imagining the warmth of a Vulcan body radiating through the light cloth.

He knew he needed to get out of there before someone tried to find him and wondered why he was in Spock’s personal space. Robe back on the hanger, Jim fingered the embellishments, growing angry at his own ignorance as to what they said. “Still so much to learn.”

Settling the garment back on the hanger rod, a white corner of a heavy piece of paper protruded over the lip of the closet shelf. Not a thought in his mind warned that he needed to get his ass in gear and stop this incursion. He pulled the paper down, immediately experiencing a quake of anxiety and indignation when he saw what it was.

Jim couldn’t even think of how his friend was utterly adorable as a small child. No, couldn’t possibly do that, there was no taking this stolen moment and sculpting it into a bittersweet, even happy memory. There, in a three-and-a-half-decade-old photograph, she rubbed Kirk’s nose in the reality that he had to fight against the astonishing, flawless, pre-approved by Sarek, Mallia Ah’delvena to get Spock to so much as acknowledge any feelings the captain had for the man who more-or-less lived at the science station on the bridge. Quashing the urge to rip the photo into an artificial snowfall, he slipped it back into its place on the shelf. He exited into the hall, relieved not to be seen by anyone.

  
  
  
“You look like you’ve cooled down which is a damned good thing. I didn’t want to stand by while you committed career suicide.” McCoy caught up with Jim in the lift. “I hope you’ve come to the wise decision to not get into a fight with Ambassador Scary Uncle.”

Kirk gave an approving snort. “That name is the best, makes me want to smile every time I hear it.”

“I wouldn’t call him that to his face.” McCoy said. “But it’s funny and more friendly to the public than Uninformed Elephant Dick.”

“You know, he lets Bergman get away with it, the Scary Uncle part. . . _What the hell_?” Kirk’s ire toward the diplomat and his filmmaker crony grew.

“Don’t push it, Jim.”

“How do you get into the good graces of someone like that? How did Bergman do it? Sarek doesn’t just _tolerate_ Mr. Hollywood Hawaiian Shirt, he actually _trusts_ that nutcase.” A flash of genius hit the captain and he smacked the stop car button.

Missing the grab bar and thumping into the wall panel, the doctor was lucky he didn’t fall down. “What the hell was that for?”

Jim cleared their destination and entered a new one. Now they were heading back to Officer’s Country.

“Do I get any say in this round-the-world by turbolift?” Hand firmly affixed to the bar, McCoy gripped it hard.

“I’m a dumbass, Bones.” His voice took on a lighter, contemplative quality.

“Of that, we’re in agreement.”

Lift car stopped, Jim was nearly running before the door slid completely out of the way. “Bones, come on!”

Damned if he was going to run. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being dragged into something? You’re not setting up an alibi, are you?”

McCoy joined Kirk at the entry to Spock’s quarters. “Jim, don’t break into the guy’s lair.”

“But I have to.” He started keying in the override.

“Maybe I can set you up with something that will help you relax and get some sleep. Once you’re rested, you’ll come to your senses and—” It opened and McCoy threw his head back, thinking, _Sweet Dog in heaven, what am I going to do with you_?

On the rare occasions when the doctor had cause to enter these premises, he’d never felt comfortable doing so. This was an absolute violation of privacy. “Jim!”

“We won’t be here long.”

“We shouldn’t be here at all. Especially you.”

“I’m looking for a book.” Kirk said, like barging into someone’s house because you need a cup of sugar was acceptable behavior.

“I’d ask him about it when he gets back.” The cabin started to close in, the knowledge that they were trespassing into an alien sphere made his head spin. “Go read one of your own damned books.”

“ _Murder on the Orient Express_ , Bones.” Kirk moved his head in the way you do when someone needed to pick up the slack.

“The hell you beller. I’m not touching one fucking thing in here.”

Opening cupboards and rifling through drawers the captain uttered, “Come on, come on, come on.”

“Fuck’s sake, man. Enough.” _What I’d give to be able to do that nerve pinch and stop this idiocy in its tracks_. . . “Jim!”

“Just a second. I’m sure it’s here.” Now in the closet, the fishing expedition hit deeper waters. “ _Oh my god_.”

Facepalmed, McCoy’s words muffled slightly against the cuff of his uniform tunic. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“ _Oh. My. God_.” Shock rather than pleasant excitement halted Jim as surely as smashing into a brick wall. “I never imagined—”

“Did you find the damned book?”

Fully upright, Jim turned around, holding a cardboard box labeled CABBAGE SOUP MIX.

  
  
  
Another day of not finding the box, another day of not pinning down Laura Hillyard and Lt. Veddah, the Kennuk made for their base of operations when the sun was nearly all the way down. Spock and Sha’leyen immediately started an analysis of the wet clothes Laura dumped. If they could pull something from the perspiration impregnated in the garments then they hoped they could start treating her for whatever ailed her. Livia’s words echoed. Laura had to come in alive or they risked killing Veddah.

Tralnor sat and watched the science go down. He’d decided he wanted to spend some time with people instead of remaining on the shuttle, doing nothing but re-reading the Belonite books. He recognized the equipment, understood how a lot of the tests they’d chosen to run worked, and was at the same time glad that he didn’t have to spend the entirety of his career at a lab bench.

“The human axilla, it never fails to produce worthwhile evidence.” Sha’leyen was like the proverbial pig in mud. Her forensics background meant she had a breadth of practical knowledge that would pay off. She snipped a tiny piece of the armpit from the undershirt and spoke to it like one might a pet. “What are you going to tell us today?”

“That woman is on death’s door.” Tralnor didn’t mean to interrupt the workflow with distracting commentary.

“Explain.” Spock encouraged. “If our results corroborate your findings it is to everyone’s benefit.”

“My hyper-acute sense of smell is part and parcel of being a Mair-rigolauya so don’t think that either of you is missing anything.” He didn’t much pay attention to what his nose told him unless something was profoundly wrong. “She is in a state of hemolytic anemia. An unknown process has also elevated her potassium levels and her body is not eliminating excess copper.”

“Is this a strange case of malnutrition?” Sha’leyen inserted a prepared sample into the portable scanning electron microscope.

“I wish I could tell you, but my medical knowledge just doesn’t match what my genetic predisposition would communicate to you in my place.” He’d never wanted to enter into any kind of professional field that put him in contact with the sick and wounded. It was too easy to feel everyone else’s pain.

“Possible electrolyte imbalance?” Spock said. “A reaction to an environmental toxin?”

“Could be.” Tralnor had no idea. “She’s also menstruating and I’ve not got a single clue how that affects her.”

“Sick is right. Anemic, dehydrated, probably in a state of near-constant GI distress, her liver is going to begin shutting down if it hasn’t started, and she’s on her period. _Pure misery_.” Sha’leyen’s body language suggested this was more pernicious than it sounded. “I don’t think she can drag herself around here for much longer.”

Spock consulted a readout screen. “Depending on the severity of these imbalances, she has days to weeks before this becomes fatal.”


	116. Chapter 116

It wasn’t awkward silence in the lift as much as it was quiet reflection of the embarrassment they’d visited upon themselves. Kirk tried to focus on the control panel while McCoy looked upward into the light fixture.

The doctor let off a subconscious shudder. “That was like being a little kid and finding a vibrator in your mom’s nightstand.”

“No, it was _worse_ , Bones.”

“You can’t tell me that was on the level of walking in on your parents bad.” McCoy’s face started to take on its normal tone, less boiled tomato, and more human.

Jim sighed and held up his bounty, two hardback books. “This was—”

“And you got the stupid book you wanted, plus another. Jim, the computer has the whole Agatha Christie collection on file. That one there, people get on a train, train gets stranded, someone’s effectively murderized, stuffy French detective sorts through a cast of snobs, shit gets figured out, train starts moving again.” Bones didn’t understand the importance of Kirk getting his hands on this specific copy. “The end.”

Their deck reached, they offloaded and walked to their destination. Observing the shenanigans of Rec Room 2 would let both of them unwind and come to grips with what they’d just done.

  
  
  
“I recognize some of these pieces.” Veddah said of the sculptures, paintings, and other impressive cultural artifacts. “They all vanished around the time of the Reform. My secondary school history courses made the claim that the breakaway faction who went on to become the Romulans took all of this with them.”

“Someone or a group of someones thought they were coming back for it.” Laura gazed into the gemstone eyes of a platinum-clad statue made to resemble a decorated warrior. “They hid it here, set up an effective environmental control system, and walked away content it was safe.”

“I do not know what to think.”

“Well, now we know that the claim the ShiKahr Museum of Art hosts the original of that painting is a pile of shit.” Laura pointed to a massive canvas hung between two standards. She recalled seeing _The Demise of the Beloved_ when she was a high school freshman. “And for all the museum knows, they probably think their copy is the original.”

“It will take months to identify and catalogue everything in this room.” Inundated by the sheer volume of items in the grand hall, Veddah hadn’t wiped the amazement from his face. “You compared this to the fictional Aladdin’s Cave when we are standing in King Tut’s Tomb.”

Laura hadn’t been wrong earlier when she thought this space might be home to a bottomless pit. The collection would launch careers, answer grand philosophical enquiries, and provide endless discussion and discovery. “Well stated, Dr. Carter.”

“Dr. Carter?”

“He was the Egyptologist who led the dig that found Tut’s Tomb, and one of the first people through the door when he and his team got it open.” Her middle ears popped and sudden onset vertigo made her sit on the floor. “It’s okay, Veddah. I’ll be fine.”

He doubted the veracity of her statement. “We cannot speak of this to anyone until we are off-world and let a responsible organization or governmental entity not administered out of Pezig’s Gate know what’s here. That will give them time to file all appropriate court documents for repatriation to Vulcan.”

The ground offered her some comfort because it remained still while the rest of the room began to bob. “Hmmm.”

“I do not think it appropriate to include a find of this importance in your portfolio of extortion and blackmail.” He sat down beside her.

“Not appropriate at all. The box is all I need to exact what I want and to protect you. Letting this fall into the hands of the greedy buffoons who run this world is as good as melting it down and exchanging it for strippers and rum.” She let him draw her against his side. “And you will be remembered forever as the man who found a treasure trove. You’ll be famous. People will love you for this.”

“The accolades of strangers would ring hollow because all that I need comes as remembrance and support from you.”

“And then you have to go and say something wonderful.” Laura failed to stifle a yawn and blinked out into a restless sleep.

  
  
  
After she returned to the mortal realm, Laura thanked Veddah for letting her nap for three hours. He’d stayed right there on the floor with her, acting as a living pillow.

He’d tried to meditate and shed the trauma reaction to last night’s failed attempt at sex with her on top. Still humiliated at how his mind freaked out, the desperation in his search for equilibrium continued to erode his confidence and perception of his own sanity.

“Let’s see how far back this goes and then it’s time to head to the car.” She almost suggested relocating their luggage and supplies to this repository. Cold and damp weren’t issues in the subterranean vault.

Veddah would not turn loose of her, keeping a hand on her arm or back the entirety of their walk. His reassurance that he’d be there should she start going down again helped keep her going.

Where the collections at Trego Tech were plentiful, they were a rural roadside tourist stand hocking postcards and coffee mugs to the unsuspecting. Pezig’s Gate was the find of the century. Items of staggering beauty and cultural significance went for what seemed like kilometers when the overall theme of the inventory took on an entirely different, sinister quality.

Blades, poleaxes, lirpalar, hand weapons, transitioned into more devices of torture, some like they’d seen out in the prison proper and others were beyond even that depravity. When the Iron Maiden was obviously a more humane manner of death than the beastly machines contained here, Laura doubled-down on her assurance that nothing here would fall into the hands of Pezig’s Gate’s owner/operators.

“Our box is going to be somewhere in this section.” She said, after several minutes of tense silence.

“You do not believe it is hidden on the surface?” Veddah pulled her closer.

“Over there, that’s a kae’kliton.” She pointed at an elaborate wand about the size and shape of a human forearm.

“A psionic arrow?”

“Hook a person up to that and it administers jolts of energy to the brain that forces their shields down and allows the torturers unimpeded access to their prisoner’s mind. It was preferable to drugs or a forced meld in some cases, but people tended not to recover from the procedure.”

“Another spectre.” Veddah said, bewildered by his ancestors’ capacity for inflicting devastation on one another.

“If that thing is here and all of this other horrific shit is here, it makes more sense that what we need is down here instead of abandoned in someone’s office.”

“As is my thought on the matter.” He got an arm around her, halting her sway and saving her from falling into a menacing suit of armor.

  
  
  
“ _Charleston, Charleston_! _Made in Carolina_! _Some dance, some prance I’ll say there’s nothing finer than the Charleston_ —” Joe and Billie started in on their song and dance portfolio while Kirk and McCoy settled in.

_Focus on the circus_ , Jim told himself. He had to put what he’d found in that closet out of his mind.

“You don’t think they take requests, do you?” Bones looked like he was already having a good time, deliriously happy to have escaped Spock’s quarters.

“Fucked if I know.”

“Remember, we’re here to have a little fun.”

“Yeah, fun.” _Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think_! “That’s me, Bones. I’m the master of fun.”

“You better cool it, Big Kahuna.” The doctor warned.

When the mating dance of the dumb concluded at the front of the room, Kirk had to admit he was glad to see that Sarah David was well enough to have left sick bay and could get back into her swing by playing some guitar. He didn’t expect much since Buffalo Bill and Joe tended to lean toward more lighthearted fare than Tralnor chose, so when engineer Lt. Avery also went up and joined the performers. The idea that this group could very well break out into a rousing rendition of _Poisoning Pigeons in the Park_ was never from Jim’s mind.

Rather than the goofball hit parade, Joe, Sohja, and Billie, joined by Tralnor’s students, opted for a slightly slower multi-part vocal of _Country Roads_. Around the room, expressions softened as memories of home bubbled up into people’s thoughts. Though they sang about West Virginia, Iowa hung heavy on Jim’s heart.

_And driving down the road I get a feeling that I should have been home yesterday, yesterday_ — The words, viewed not from an intellectual stance like Jim typically chose to render deeper meaning from poetry of this nature, he heard an anthem of someone profoundly aware that not all the material success in the universe could replace the love and fine details of the one place a person could call their own. . .

What of the nature of home as a concept rather than a place? Looking over his life, Riverside hadn’t been home for more than half his existence now. Certainly, the family farm and endless plains were associated with the word, but no, that wasn’t home. He had a permanent “home” address back in San Francisco, but that was little more than a letterbox where every few months the contents were collected and forwarded to him on whatever ship he served aboard.

_Take me home, country roads_.

Watching Sarah’s hand move along the frets of the guitar triggered a cascade of recent memories.

_Take me home, country roads_.

In the shuttle bay on that morning not too long ago now, he embraced Spock and pleaded for his friend to return home. _You don’t have to love me_. . . Jim’s own words. . . _Just come home_. . .

When he’d said that to Spock, Jim thought he was telling his friend to return to the Enterprise. What he’d actually meant was together, he and the Vulcan, that dynamic was _home_.

_Take me home, country roads_.

  
  
  
Laura scrubbed at her blood-stained panties in a shallow pan of water. They were the last of her undergarments to get washed. Not knowing how many more days they’d be on Pezig’s Gate, and now wearing her last set of clean drawers she’d saved for tomorrow, there was no choice but to do some housekeeping.

He’d tried to help, but Veddah was rightfully chased off. He knew what the rusty coloration of the water meant. She put up a strong front, but he felt her devastation. A month ago she’d described her thought processes regarding her reproductive malfunction, that part of her hoped against hope for the impossible. When they emerged from the vault, he’s the one who’d seen that she’d bled through her clothes. In the excitement and illness of her day, she hadn’t realized what her body was doing. Watching her clean up, he came to an irrational effectuation. Laura’s cruor was the announcement that there had not been a conception this cycle. As someone who’d come to accept that he did not have fatherhood in his future with T’Danna, he never expected to have that rush of disappointment from—

“You look like something’s the matter, Veddah.” She gave her pants a final ring-out before draping them over a passenger door frame to dry. Hands toweled off but still pruney, she tangled their fingers together.

“I am faced with the evidence that amongst my people I am quite young to have a child and that I am most dissatisfied that our biological incompatibility hampers the positive results we both seek.” He was upset with nature which made as much sense as yelling at the wind to change directions.

“In your case, age doesn’t matter. You are honorable and gracious, outstanding qualities few children see fitting examples of.” She let her lips brush against the plain of skin just in front of his left ear. “And I’ve said it before, you’re going to be a tremendous dad.”

“Kind words.” He said.

“True words.” She reaffirmed. “Let’s read for a little while and get some shut-eye.”

  
  
  
“What happens if she dies before we get to him?” Mollie’s reaction to the evidence of Laura’s severe illness was to set her soup spoon down and stare at the others. Tralnor knew she wanted a pleasant answer but knew it wasn’t coming.

“Sha’leyen sent off a message to T’Lal who will then forward it to Livia.” Spock didn’t like where this was ending up, none of them did.

“You told her to pack her bags and get on the first flight out here, didn’t you?”

Sha’leyen let off an affirmative, uh-huh, hair tie held in her mouth, as she battled to tame her frazzled mane into a bun and out of her face. “We have asked her to get at least as far as Starbase 21.”

“Unless T’Lal can give us a schedule for the experiment, we cannot know where the Enterprise is going to be at any time between now and when Advanced Aerospace concludes its mission.” Spock would not speculate.

“Okay.” Mollie said. “I’m not a Starfleet officer, so I don’t know how my next suggestion would play out. I can give you the response I’d see from my higher-ups in the Vulcan Aerospace Assembly, but that might be completely different than what your brass would do, so don’t come unglued when I say this.”

“We’ve been warned.” Tralnor took some more crackers from the center of the table, crumbling them into his meal.

“What happens if we contact Livia directly and give her a live relay of where we are, where the Enterprise is at, and the condition of her patients?”

“All four of us could go to prison.” Tralnor said.

Sha’leyen added, “The boys and I would be cashiered out of Starfleet. In my case, if a court decided my lapse in judgement was egregious enough, I could lose my Federation citizenship. Then the Met would tell me to never look back.”

“A conviction like that, I’d never be able to teach again.” Her brother’s statement was not sensationalized.

“Well, shit.” Mollie had hoped for some liberty to see their mission through, but she knew, even as the holder of a Presidential Decree, that piece of paper made no mention of disclosing proprietary military research information. “I don’t suppose it makes much of a difference that we’re attempting to save one of Starfleet’s own, does it?”

Glum silence met her ears and she had the answer.

Songs:

Charleston lyrics by Cecil Mack, 1923

Take Me Home, Country Roads written by John Denver, Bill Danoff, and Taffy Nivert. From the 1971 album, Poems, Prayers, and Promises


	117. Chapter 117

Harassment campaign in full swing, Silvio was relentless. Each time Veddah answered his summons, the first officer complained that his captain was probably dead no thanks to the “conniving Vulcan she drags around everywhere like a child does with a doll.” The human thought it was too much to ask that Laura be allowed to sleep uninterrupted.

“You hear me out you green-blooded piece of shit, I think you used all of your magic science garbage and you deliberately got her sick! You want to take her out because she bounced up and down on your dick once without asking.” It sounded like he actually hissed. “I know how you freaky bastards operate.”

“I will—”

“ _Put her on the fucking phone_!” Silvio tensed his neck muscles and squared his shoulders.

“She will contact you when she wakes up.” Veddah had spoken that line seven times in the last five hours.

“You will listen to the fucking words coming out of my mouth, get my woman for me, and I might let you live!”

Veddah stood. “Very well.”

“Now, you motherfucker!” Silvio watched Veddah’s retreat.

(Adun’a, Silvio demands an audience.) He hated that he’d forced her from much-needed rest. He only went to where she was sleeping to help her get over to the comm.

Her eyes blinked slowly, her body not keeping up with her mind. (Did you tell him to fuck off and let me sleep?)

(Not in so many words.) He showed her the pertinent parts of Silvio’s previous calls.

Veddah walked her as far as she could go before she showed up in the video feed for the connection with Sweetness. Spine straight, chin up, genuine scowl, Laura strode to the comm like she owned the world. “What?”

Hanging back where he wasn’t present for Silvio’s continual irritation, Veddah observed. The lout had the excellent fortune that Veddah was down on the planet.

“—Yeah? That pathetic green pussy cleaned your fucking clock. Or had you forgotten?” She’d pulled together enough energy to put Silvio in his place.

“I don’t want to talk about that, Laura.”

“What do you want to talk about then? What is so important that you had to rattle my cage in the dead of fucking night?” She set a fist on her hip. “And be quick because I want to haul my tired ass back to bed.”

Silvio, from Veddah’s line of sight, came off as giving Laura a cross-eyed glare, irate that his boss wanted to ignore him, the ship, and anything else not directly tied to the pile of blankets growing cold. “I am so sick of this shit, captain. Your buried treasure was fun for a while, but there’s an entire crew of people depending on you for their paychecks. If we’re not running cargo, we don’t have any work. Do you remember what that is, work?”

“Did you ever know what it was?” They stared at one another for a second until he had to break and look away. That was one of her ways of telling him he was so full of shit that his breath smelled like manure. Silvio was inventing arguments as a power play. They both knew that paying the crew for sitting idle was never going to be an issue ever again. Forty-one lives and many square tons of rough diamonds would see to that.

She picked up the data padd that she’d earlier set with her other tech gadgets. Stylus in hand, she tapped through multiple screens of information, not stopping until it looked like she put a signature on the handheld’s screen.

“Let’s not argue.” He pushed a false sense of reason into his side of the conversation.

“That’s fine with me. No arguing.”

Snide, Silvio fired off with, “About time you agreed with me. It’s like you totally forget that I’m your first officer.”

“Because you’re not.” She went about her usual actions of tucking the data padd in the waistband of her pants.

“I’m not what?” Too cocky to consider the implications of her simple statement, Silvio said, “You-hoo, earth to Laura, anyone home?”

“You are not.” She spoke deliberately and Silvio was too stupid to appreciate what she’d set up.

“I’m not what?”

“You’re not my first officer anymore.”

  
  
  


“Something sure spooked Kirk good today.” Joe said while Sohja went around their small double-occupancy cabin searching for an earring that had disappeared from her head. “Earlier, I thought he might try for a round of fisticuffs with the ambassador. Even being exhausted and dealing with a bad heart, the captain wouldn’t have come out of that with his pride intact.”

“A weakened Vulcan is a formidable opponent for most.” Her comment showed she was engaged while placing most of her focus on finding the tiny piece of jewelry. “People, humans especially, underestimate us.”

“The doc frog-marched Kirk’s ass right on out of there, which was a good thing. That shit saved more than one career right there.”

“Undoubtedly.” Finished with looking around the baseboards, she started unmaking her bed, shaking out the linens, and keeping an eye out for a tell-tale gleam.

“And in the hour or so it took those two to retreat and meet up with the crew for our Friday Night Follies, Dr. McCoy looked like he was remembering the time he gave his thesis defense in the nude and his grandma and maiden aunt were in the audience.” Joe laughed, but in a way that proved his suspicion.

“What of James?”

“He saw something that put him on his ass. Mind blown. Full stop.” He said. “And I’m not talking about a mental review of you and Sarek shooting up a bunch of shit with that cannon. He took that pretty damned well.”

Bedding not revealing her earring, she lifted the mattress. “He did.”

“You know what? Fuck it. I’m going to see what the hell is going on.”

“I would prefer if you waited.” Mattress down, far edge pulled out from the wall, nothing.

“I’m not going to knee him in the teeth while he’s down. Not my style.”

“Let me find my earring and I will join you.”

  
  
  


In a margin, one of the few notes in standard, said, _Is this instance of one character presenting himself as another person the author’s philosophy on notions of perpetual human duplicity_? Jim had more than a few questions about the note, more than one related to his only passing familiarity with the book in his hands.

 _Perpetual Human Duplicity_. It looked and sounded like some kind of virus that leaves the sufferer plagued by a lifetime of random breakouts of oozing pustules. Was that a Vulcan term or Spock’s own shorthand for comprehending his mother’s people?

The doorbell sounded off and he granted Bones egress. Christie novel closed and set in the top desk drawer he let his friend have a lame grin and immediate access to the liquor cabinet. “Hell of a day, Bones.”

“That’s staid, even for you.” Hi-ball glass perched on the edge of the built-in where the booze lived, McCoy dosed himself with a generous splash of something Kuznetsov left behind.

“Yeah, well. . .”

“How’s your reading going?”

“Considering one book is full of notes in what looks like Golic script, I assume that’s what Spock wrote things in, and the other is an earth binding with a forward in standard but full text in Golic, it’ll take me a while to get through them.” He’d left Seeking Proper Points on the desk, flipped through the pages, showing the print in typical black type and the personal comments in mulberry-colored ink.

“That was a boneheaded move.” McCoy threw his drink back in a single solid slug. “And it's fine if he’s pissed at me. That’s the standard operating procedure around here for the most part. He’ll even believe me that I tried to keep your dumb butt from being so dumb. Fuck, I don’t think he’ll give much of a care about the books. It’s the other things. . .”

“I know.” Jim said.

The buzzer sounding from the door forced them to regroup. “You didn’t plan a party and not tell me about it?”

Kirk shook his head. “Can you get that for me?”

“Maybe it’s Scotty coming up to regale us with Great Engineering Exploits?” Bones set his glass on the desk and answered the summons.

“You seem disappointed, Doc.” Joe said as Sohja repeated her barge-in approach to Kirk’s invitation or lack thereof for people to enter his quarters. In light of what he’d spent part of his day doing, Jim didn’t object.

The captain pulled Seeking Proper Points closer, obscuring the spine. “Come on in, Sohja, Joe.”

Bergman only stepped in after being asked. “Good book, Captain Jim?”

What to say? “Don’t know. Haven’t started it yet.”

“Just so you know, there’s a misprint in that edition on the first page of chapter four.” Joe pointed at the ill-gotten gains from that day’s raid.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“In case Spock hasn’t already made the annotation.” No accusations of theft took flight from the producer’s lips. “It should say, ‘Pre-emptive study of the subject’s professional background is not justification for the Knowledge Seeker to assume available information is complete or accurate.’ The flub is something like, Do not apply for biography lest the speaker is retired.’ What a difference a few characters can make.”

“What are you on about?” McCoy thought to ask.

“ _Seeking Proper Points from Leadership Figures_ , that book right there is the suggested reading I gave him when I came aboard. I told him to find a copy and read it every chance he got.” Moved to the edge of the desk, Joe said, “Mind if I take a look?”

Refusing Joe’s request would make Kirk out to be a bigger asshole than usual so he played the game. Plus, this guy could actually read the book and might get Jim started down the correct path. “What’s the harm? You’ll let me know if you find any profound secrets, right?”

“Maybe.” Trade-sized, small enough to fit into most shelves, duffle bags, and some pockets, Joe carefully examined the book. “Sohja, sarlah gla-tor.”

She left her spot leaned against the closet door, joining her friend. “What am I to look at?”

“There’s something hidden behind the flyleaf on the back of the front cover.” He let Sohja take it. “I think it’s going to be a note about you, Captain Jim.”

“What makes you think something is there?” McCoy peered over shoulders and at Jim, not seeing what Hollywood Hawaiian Shirt found so compelling.

Jim wasn’t making the connection either. “I’ve flipped through it a few times and not seen a thing.”

Sohja wedged a manicured fingernail between the heavy paper and cardboard. Pulled back, the book revealed a folded sheet of onion skin. Joe reached in and took the paper. They leaned their heads together and read the message. A smattering of Vulcan words exchanged between them and she said, “It is an early draft of a will.”

Bones’ chin quivered on the edge of telling Jim he should have left Spock’s shit alone. “Oh, god.”

“Not knowing what Spock’s final wishes are as compared to what’s on file with Starfleet, there is no telling the current veracity of what he has written here.” Sohja let Joe take over.

“Captain, he wanted to make sure that you knew he tried to fight the feelings he developed for you, that he knew you would not accept a male lover, but that he’d fallen in love with you.” Joe refolded the thin paper and had Sohja slip it back into the book. “So, yeah. . .”

“Is there a date on that?” Kirk didn’t want to know but had to.

She addressed Jim and he thought he detected an element of sympathy from her. “It was signed two years, seven months, and nine days ago.”

“So, before—” Kirk closed his eyes and took a deep breath to recenter. “ _Before he had to suffer—Fuck_!”

  
  
  


Less defensive, not trying to prove he was the most macho man in the room, and stringing together enough beads to make a garland in terms of who and what Spock was to him, James chose to have a civil and informative conversation with Sohja, Joe, and the doctor.

The date when the will was signed meant nothing to her, nor did Kirk’s halting comments on its significance. She’d known, via Clan Surak news, that Spock faced The Challenge. “The resounding opinion of the extended family was one of relief that we did not have to count that woman as an acquired member of our Clan.”

“Wow, this T’Pring sounds like a real piece of work.” Joe said. “Reminds me a lot of Anya Willis, another worthless money and status grubber who was briefly married to Tralnor.”

“A comparison to Anya is valid. She and T’Pring come from the same school of narcissistic klepto-manipulation.” Sohja recalled a run-in with T’Pring. A visit home her sophomore year at USC was tainted by this encounter. While shopping in one of ShiKahr’s outdoor markets, a girl around her age became hostile when she noticed Sohja’s university branded tote bags. A snide comment devolved into a lecture about the toxicity and limited intelligence of humans. It was only when the girl segued into a cutting description of the ‘corrupted half-breed’ she was betrothed to that Sohja realized who this rude person was. “As for T’Pring and Spock, that was a match made in hell. I do not know why such a contrary creature was chosen as his mate.”

“Only Sarek—” Kirk started.

“Sarek didn’t get a say.” Joe put that speculation to rest. “T’Pau’s the one who fucked up there. Sarek and Amanda thought that girl was a cobra from day one and didn’t want her anywhere near their son.”

McCoy was irritated for his crewmate. “Is that true, Sohja?”

“It is true.” She confirmed for the doctor.

“The way Mollie told me the story, Sarek fought tooth and nail to keep that bonding from happening. He knew how this would all go down and wanted better for his kid. The day it happened, he was rushing to get back to ShiKahr from some universe-ending-if-these-talks-don’t-happen accord and was like an hour and a half late. Apparently, you don’t argue with T’Pau and win, even if you’re one of the most successful diplomats in the galaxy.” Joe’s head shook at the details. “In my exposure to this bonding and betrothal tradition, this shit is designed to work, but only if you’re putting the right two people together. Spock and T’Pring were a bad match and everybody knew it.”

“Politics.” Sohja said having reevaluated T’Pau’s impetus for choosing such a rancid person for Spock.

McCoy regarded her, his face a question mark. “Pardon?”

“T’Pau deemed Mollie an untenable choice because she is Lyr Saan.” She consulted memories of what she’d heard about Spock’s doomed marriage.

“The human thing.” Kirk concluded. “Too many of us moving into the woodpile.”

Unfamiliar with the expression, she didn’t ask what this woodpile meant, understanding that he believed Spock was not initially betrothed to Mollie because T’Pau was overtly racist. “This was not about genetics, James. The concise telling is this, T’Lal’s mother, the highest serving Lyr Saan in Vulcan’s global government, was married to T’Pau’s nephew who was also Sarek’s paternal uncle. After a murder attempt against his own daughter when she was a toddler, T’Lal’s father was banished. T’Pau took Clan Surak’s side in the ensuing legal proceedings where she tried to take custody of T’Lal and her brother Sonreke. She strictly viewed the children as members of Clan Surak. T’Lal’s mother objected and made a valid claim that her children were sought as to more completely control the narrative regarding their banished father, that T’Pau cared more about reputation than a child who was almost killed. The resultant divide put T’Pau in a place where accepting Mollie meant admitting the Lyr Saan were right.”

“I bet she just fucking loved that.” McCoy clearly didn’t have much use for Clan Surak’s matriarch.

“It’s worse than I ever thought.” James got a nod from the doctor on that. “Spock was sacrificed so that old crone wouldn’t lose face in a feud where she was clearly in the wrong.”

“Precisely.” She said.

“She’d better hope we never meet up in person again.” Kirk’s eyes took on a darker shade of green.


	118. Chapter 118

“I need for the both of you to be honest with me and I’m not asking as a Starfleet officer, the captain of this ship, nothing like that. The other day when Joe repeated part of that overheard conversation between Sarek and T’Lal, he said they were both afraid they were going to lose their children. What is going down on Pezig’s Gate that could kill Spock and the others?” So far, this discussion had stayed civil and Kirk hoped to keep it that way.

A little hang-dog, Joe said, “I wish to hell we could tell you. All I can say is that it’s serious, incredibly dangerous, and something that once we’re there you’re going to want to steer fucking clear so you don’t get taken out too if things go pear-shaped.”

“That’s—I don’t want to believe that I, that the Enterprise, can’t be of any help.” Awash with the helplessness that had constantly pulled him down as of late, Jim wanted to challenge Bergman but pulled back because he knew jumping all over Joe would accomplish nothing. Getting irate with Mollie when she delivered the same news had gotten him nowhere and but in trouble with his friends.

“The best help you can be is out of the way. You don’t want to get embroiled in this, Captain Jim.” The goofy actor was replaced by a serious trooper. That in and of itself gave Kirk a chill. Joe went on, “I know you put your life on the line all the time in your line of work, but you’ve never come across a situation like this before. Your heart is in the right place, but all the good intentions in the world aren’t going to get you or Spock any less dead if you go meddling.”

“Scared Vulcans.” Bones made a pass at lightening the mood. “Who’d have thought?”

“You should be scared.” Sohja glanced between the two Starfleet men. “Go down planet-side with us, James, appreciate that like us, you probably are not going to be alive to come back.”

“How can you say that?” Jim didn’t like what he was being told. He refused to sit back and take being pummeled in the gut like this. “Give credit where it’s due. Spock and Sha’leyen are battle-hardened officers who’ve come through worse things than this without breaking a sweat.”

“Believe what you will.” Grim, Sohja wasn’t letting up. “Human optimism of this nature is a social opiate and distraction technique. You may want flowers, James. Expect body bags.”

  
  
  
How long did they sit, silent, brains chewing on gory possibilities? Sohja and Joe left, their stark warning a smothering presence. Kirk finally came up for air. “Okay, Bones, they got to me. And if they’re this terrified, I have to own up and admit that yeah, I’m scared.”

The doctor made a sound like he was clearing his throat. “Me too.”

  
  
  
Returned to their shared cabin after a short stop off with T’Lal for an update on the timetable, Sohja and Joe got ready for bed. He was singing something he called _The Frog Song_ , that Sohja had never been able to connect to frogs of any kind.

“. . . _Send me a kiss by wire, darling my heart’s on fire_!”

He kept singing as she answered their door buzzer.

“ _If you refuse me, honey you lose me, and you’ll be alone_ —”

James Kirk stood on the threshold.

“ _So baby, telephone and tell me I’m your own_!” Joe took a bow and said to absolutely no one, “Thank you, thank you very much. I’m here all week.”

She stepped aside so he didn’t have to linger out in the hall.

“Earlier today, I broke into Spock’s quarters.”

“Wasn’t any other way for you to get that particular copy of _Seeking Proper Points from Leadership Figures_. It’s the only hard copy on board and I haven’t seen it in your ship’s digital library.” Joe indicated the captain was welcome to one of the desk chairs.

“I wish I could say that’s all I found. Books are easier than what I—”

“Told you he was spooked earlier.”

Sohja jumped off from Joe’s comment. “What did you find, James?”

  
  
  
First officer Morgana interrupted breakfast to inform her captain that Silvio was in the brig after trying to tear apart the bridge in retribution for his demotion. “Tell him that if he doesn’t like my new terms that he can take his ass right off my boat and start thumbing a ride home to Trego Delta.”

“He won’t like that.” Morgana attempted to keep a gleam of satisfaction from brightening her features and failed. “He thinks himself too good to actually _work_ the cargo bays on a merchant vessel.”

“How long is he riding that cage for?” Laura fully expected Silvio to up and rage quit Sweetness and not still be aboard her ship come daybreak. That he was still skulking around was a minor irritation.

“For as long as it takes for him to simmer down.” A full-blown smile bloomed.

“Let me know if he tries to do anything else stupid.”

Laura signed off with the intent of enjoying her coffee and a cuddle from Veddah. She got about as far as thinking about filling her cup when Morgana called back. “What is it?”

“Incoming from one of your informants. Request for immediate callback.”

“Okay, send me the message.”

“Yes, Captain.” The navigator didn’t argue or huff once. What a nice change.

“Veddah, stay back. T’Pring has something for me.” Laura made the connection and was glad to see the moronic woman on the other end was dressed this time.

“Livia Ah’delevna-MacCormack had a meeting with T’Pau this morning.” T’Pring couldn’t hide her disgust that a Vulcan of T’Pau’s standing would entertain an audience with a human, regardless of said human’s background or expertise.

“That’s unusual.” Laura thought it was stark fucking weird. “The shit’s gotta be hitting a fan somewhere if she’d voluntarily speak to a Lyr Saan.”

That struck a raw nerve. T’Pring’s shoulders stiffened and she had to collect herself before giving a reply. “To call that woman Lyr Saan is to imply that she is Vulcan.”

“She is Lyr Saan, T’Pring. That’s hard fact. Look on the Clan rolls and tell me any different.” Laura loved making her spy uncomfortable, knowing that no matter what she said, T’Pring was beholden and had no choice but to listen. “What was this meeting about?”

“ _A human cannot be_ —”

Laura cut her off mid-hiss. “Look up Lyr Saan history and get back to me on that. What did T’Pau want with Livia?”

Incensed, T’Pring doubled back. “That human, any human, cannot be folded into a Vulcan clan or society no matter how much _delusion_ plays into their wishful thinking.”

Struck by that comment, Laura asked, “You do know how the Lyr Saan came to be, right?”

“I do not care to know those details as your people have nothing to do with it.”

Staggered by her ignorance, Laura decided for a quick lesson on the fly. “Oh, honey, humans have _everything_ to do with the creation of the Lyr Saan. And I mean everything. There’s no universe in which the Lyr Saan, as a people, can exist without their spliced human DNA. The geneticists who made the Lyr Saan were deliberate in choosing the combination of traits from both Vulcan and human genomes to get the results they wanted. Some four millennia later, that the Clan would adopt a family of powerful human psions is not unexpected.”

“ _You lie_.” Her accusation dripped venom.

“Read a fucking history book sometime.” Laura countered.

“There is no truth in what you have outlined. No human is acceptable—”

“Fuck off or give me what you know about that meeting. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today and that I am still willing to secure a deposit of half your usual rate for wasting my time.” _I’ve got a dungeon of torture devices to sort through and you’re keeping me from it_ , Laura thought.

“The human is on her way to Starbase 21. Where some might call this person a neuropsionic healer, I know the truth in this case: Livia Ah’delevna-MacCormack is an ordinary earth physician who has been dispatched to meet with the Enterprise.” Ready to return to yanking the wings off flies for fun, T’Pring put a hand over the disconnect switch.

“Any mention as to why her?” What T’Pring found disturbing, Laura considered odd, but in a good sort of way.

“Apparently there is a Vulcan hostage aboard your ship. This MacCormack woman is supposed to help him in the immediate aftermath of prolonged trauma.” T’Pring’s nostrils flared. “Why do you smile at that news?”

“Because Livia is very good at what she does.” Inside her head, she screamed her relief and delight to the rafters. A real healer! “How many days out is she?”

Blatantly put out by the request, T’Pring deigned to answer. “I do not know. It did not occur to me to ask.”

“Thanks anyway.” Laura started drawing up the bank transfer. If things played out well, this was the last time she’d ever deal with T’Pring. That made her nearly as happy as knowing a top-notch healer was on her way. Veddah stood a real chance now! “Hit the library and learn something about your own damned planet. Your idiocy is hanging out and needs tucking back in.”

Unable to think on her feet fast enough, T’Pring didn’t pepper Laura with a rebuttal. Connection dead, the next item on the starship captain’s checklist was to pour a liter of coffee down her throat.

  
  
  
“Yeah, that sounds just like something Snarfle would have asked for and having Tinkerbell film it? That’s nothing short of perfect right there.” Joe pointed to her. “This woman here, she knows how to keep a secret.”

Jim, still embarrassed over what they’d seen, wasn’t following the attitude of this set of something-more-than-friends. “Why would Spock have had that?”

“You want to play the game, you’ve got to do the right research.” Joe wasn’t the slightest bit flustered at learning so many of his buddies were involved in the making or watching of a homemade porno. “If you were in his place, wanting to start a physical relationship with someone of a body-type different than what you’re used to dealing with, you’re going to want to figure some things out first, right?”

Brain pinging like a minuscule ball bearing bouncing around a fruitcake tin, the captain was lost. “Um, maybe I’d go about things a little differently.”

“ _Prude_.” Joe smirked and shook his head. “Go ahead, put yourself in his place for a minute. There are three other Vulcans on this ship, a boy who only knows about sex in an academic context, a woman who was butchered inside by her ex-husband, and Tralnor. . . That’s right, you’re going to ask the band director for some advice and you’re especially fortunate because this person has experience with women and men. He can genuinely help you. Part of that just happened to be an old video.”

On the backs of his eyelids, Kirk saw snippets from the film play out, realizing that for him, it had never been like that. His encounters with other men were more elemental, more driven by the primal need to fuck than taking the time and employing the discipline it took to make love. “He was asking the right questions.”

Joe gave a short clap. “Exactly.”

Sohja said, “This particular encounter is a good one for him to learn from. Like Tralnor, Spock is a gentle lover who requires the same in a partner.”

And that detail, Jim decided, was food for thought.

  
  
  
“Box, box, box. Where are you box?” Laura whispered while searching the collection. She and Veddah did not separate for this, both acting like two sets of eyes were better than one when they knew it was in case she collapsed.

Today, they’d brought water, food, and a sleeping bag. Perhaps with adequate rest and a consistent blood sugar level, she might fare better than yesterday. Racks, shelves, piles, this hoard was more daunting than jumping from settlement to settlement. The concentration of items would overwhelm an army of anthropologists and museum collection specialists.

A false start came in the form of what they guessed was a humidor, followed hours later by a container holding a dice game. When Laura napped, he’d wanted to keep picking, but stayed with her. She was worried he wouldn’t be able to differentiate between benign and malignant items.

When she’d gone fully unconscious he said to her, to himself, “I cannot lose you. . .”

  
  
  
Kirk had been gone for less than a minute when Sohja and Joe were visited again.

“You need to be in bed, Sir.” Joe suggested.

“Maeve has spent part of her evening with me.” Sarek filled the seat Jim vacated. “She asked that I talk about my son. In doing so, I realized that I had a message that I needed to share.”

Sohja saw Joe tense up, worried where this was going. She knew of the contentious relationship between the ambassador and his child. “Is that so?”

“I cut him off despite knowing the damage it would cause. Here, with the two of you at my side and Spock already seeking out this malicious device, my original intention of sparing him from this part of my life has failed. I did not want these activities to intrude and leave a black mark on him in any way, yet he is actively being harmed due to his direct connection to me. . . While that is not the only reason I was forced to take a less active role in his upbringing, it is the most relatable.” He blinked slowly, retrospection showing that no matter how right or wrong Sarek was in his approach to parenting, he suffered great regret. “Should I not return with you from Pezig’s Gate, I wish for you to inform him that my failures as his father are not of his making.” The older man didn’t wait for an affirmative response or make other requests. He stood up and saw himself out of their room.

  
  
  
  
  
Lyrics:

Hello! Ma Baby written by Joseph E. Howard and Ida Emerson. 1899.


	119. Chapter 119

“Someone like that doesn’t just disappear.” Tralnor said as he and Spock were re-checking the abandoned stores and businesses of the commercial sector. The wise decision was made to keep the girls on the task of seeking the tavalik duv-tor while the boys hunted down Laura. “I’d expect her to hide in the shadows, teasing us, trying to flush us out before we find her.”

“That is more in line with her known pattern of behavior.”

“How are you doing?”

“I am. . .” Spock paused too long to make his reply convincing. “I am doing.”

“Sounds like something I’d say.”

“Because it is.” The first officer admitted to cribbing from his subordinate. “Enterprise will likely arrive tomorrow night.”

Tralnor sneezed as they hit on a pocket of mold. “I’m nervous too.”

  
  
  
Sarah woke up unsure of where she was when her mind registered the scent of several men. _That’s right_ , she thought, _I’m in Dr. Tralnor’s bunk_.

She set her feet over the edge of the bed to stand up and visit the bathroom when something warm squished against the sole of her foot. Alton Avery lay on the floor, no longer asleep now. “What are you doing here, Alton?”

Thumb and finger swiping gunk from his eyes, he said, “Just got off about an hour ago and wanted to pick your brain.”

“Jesus, what time is it?” She craned her neck to take a peek at Rohit’s clock. “Another double for you.”

“I don’t mind. I knew what I was signing on for when I chose to take the assignment to this ship. Those guys who whine about working too hard need to move on to postings where they are guaranteed their beauty sleep. We’re engineers, not warehouse clerks.”

“We’ve got one or two of those down in med micro. What’s your pick?”

Elbows hooked over the edge of her mattress, Avery was in a sort-of upright position. “I overheard Mr. Scott and Mr. Q’pik. I wasn’t spying, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Okay?” She listened to make sure they’d not disturbed anyone still sleeping.

“I know where we’re going and that we’re almost there.”

Sarah got a cold feeling that sent a shiver down her back. “Uh-oh. It’s not good, is it?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of the place.” He leaned in closer and set his voice to a true whisper. “What and where is Pezig’s Gate?”

  
  
  
Spock didn’t like how Tralnor kept circling back to the former clothing store. It reminded him of the old human saying about all roads leading to Rome. It mattered little where they started off, less where they intended to go, just that he consistently returned to this same psionically impenetrable building.

No basement, ground floor granted nothing new in additional searches, and the upper levels were lacking in most furnishings. What else beyond Laura and Veddah had been inside this building yesterday that was so attractive? A detail Spock was incapable of discerning, probably attributable to a Mair-rigolauya’s neurological disposition, had Tralnor on the edge of obsessive-compulsive behavior.

 _I have my ship and Jim Kirk and you are caught up with this. Now we both exhibit disturbing signs of disordered anxiety._ It was almost a comfort to think he and Tralnor could write off this persistent worry/agitation as a manifestation of their respective human genetics. A convenient excuse, Spock knew, and one that was patently wrong.

“. . . changed out of wet clothes into items taken off the shelves, then they were simply gone. . .” Tralnor, on this turn through the store, wouldn’t lift his palms from the interior walls. “If I could get through these barriers. . .”

“Tralnor, I think it is to our advantage to leave this structure and not return.”

“What if the wyantium seeded panels are set out in a pattern that’s meant to funnel some people to a next destination and send everyone else on their merry way?” Hands moved so he could point specific spots out, Tralnor indicated to four sections in the same wall. “One, three, and four are active, number two is plain pegboard paneling over a slab of poured mockstone.”

“It is most unfortunate that a tricorder is rendered useless in this situation.” Spock picked up Tralnor’s line of thought. “We need to draw out a floorplan and reliefs of all vertical surfaces.”

“Agreed.” The younger man said. “This building spit them out somewhere.”

  
  
  
They’d stepped away from the instruments of doom for a break of sorts and went through a shelving unit of smaller, more innocuous treasures. A jewelry chest loaded down with Llangalon emeralds shoved off to a reject pile, two boxes with hyper-detailed hand carvings on the outside were discounted, a container that had a palladium dagger wedged into it kitty-corner passed over, the fifth similar item in an hour, Veddah nearly held his breath as Laura used a metal rod to knock the lid off.

As with the others, they’d hung back and made an effort at avoiding any obvious monsters or poisoned darts that might immediately fly up into their faces. “Any bets on what’s in there, Veddah?”

“I decline to speculate.”

Two steps ahead, she learned of the contents first. Head bowed, she stood like she didn’t know if it was better to hold fast or walk away. “Fucking Golic bastards even stole their dead.”

“What is it, beyond the blatantly obvious?” The impeccably preserved corpse of a neonate lay in what was, in reality, a diminutive casket.

Laura took a step closer to reach over and recover the lid. She showed Veddah the inscriptions on the underside. “The entries are all from about 3,700 years ago, making it one of the older ‘treasures’ down here. _Lyr Saan infant, probable hyper-empath as family manifestation of trait suggests, removed from mother. Infant examined, samples drawn, scientists to propagate cultures. Dispatched, then the date, to be preserved as biological specimen for future access to confirmed Mair-rigolauya DNA_. Veddah, she was only four weeks old.”

She hesitated to return the lid to the box, choosing to take another look at the desiccated body. “Maybe. . .”

“Adun’a?”

“We can’t leave her here.” Tremoring fingers extended, stopping just short of brushing against the little one’s cheek.

“You need to sit down and drink some water.” He didn’t want her to run through the rest of her limited energy budget because of a dead body.

“We can’t.” She tried to object but gave in when he guided her toward their claimed section of floor space. “We have to send her home.”

“Stay here and I will go collect her.” He got Laura to settle into a chair they’d found. The gaudy piece of furniture had belonged to a monarch or some other variety of powerful person. She held the water bottle, making no effort to get the contents into her body, and let him wrap her up in the sleeping bag. He kissed the top of her head and reentered the hoard.

Coffin lid seated, Veddah decided it was in their favor to find a way to keep the top from coming off at inopportune moments. He sought a strip of cloth, length of wire, a clothing belt, something to tie it all together. Nothing, nothing, nothing, until in the corner of his vision he landed on the ragged edge of some flag or banner. A chunk of that would work quite nicely for his purpose.

Stepping around unknown dangers and riches, he examined his find and fingered the margin on the fabric. A large textile, apparently wadded up, it was stuffed on the shelf like a pile of flat sheets shoved into the hollow in a linen closet. Decision made that a more solid piece would better serve his needs than a frayed border, he tugged on it to open enough of it to cut his bit out.

The whole ream extruded itself and plopped to the floor, nearly thudding on his feet. When it connected with the mockstone, rather than sounding entirely like fabric, he knew an item was hidden inside this otherwise banal mass. Too awkward and bulky to drag over to Laura, he chose to take the risk and see what was hidden in the twists and folds.

  
  
  
Petty Officer Handler walked Sarah and Seltun through bioarch, giving them a more in-depth tour than when they went straight through to Lt. Commander Tay’s office. “Like the rest of the ship, we don’t really have much of anything going on right now.”

“That’s fine.” Sarah was beside herself that she’d gotten away from any interaction with Christine Chapel.

“I’m glad we can help you out, Lt. David. I’m good friends with another nurse, Joan Patel, and some of what I’ve heard about this Chapel woman is toe-curling. I’m sure she’s only lasted here so long because she’s good at her job, or at least she used to be.” Handler offered them the choice of a table and chairs in the collections area, abutting desks in with the rest of the junior officers in the shared office space, or a gross examination table in the main area closest to the department’s entryway.

“As fascinating as it would be to watch your work with larger skeletal remains, we must keep Sarah from drawing Nurse Chapel’s attention. I know from my own observation that the door leading into bioarchaeology remains open during alpha shift. Should Chapel happen to see Sarah in here, we lose the advantage of hiding her.” Seltun was clearly apprehensive over another possible murder attempt on his girlfriend.

“I understand. I think I’ll have you go hang out with what’s left of our catalogued artifacts and archives. Lt. Commander Sha’leyen offloaded most of our collection weeks back, so there’s enough room for some extra Blue Shirts.” Handler was ready to leave them and return to her job when she purposely took them over to the place where the coffee urn and peripherals hung out. “Coffee, hot water, tea, cups in the upper right cabinet, spoons in the drawer, get me or Lt. Etienne Bertin if you need more coffee. Don’t try to be helpful and make it yourself. The boss has a particular way of doing things and she’s touchy about her coffee pot.”

An agreement reached on the concessions, Sarah and Seltun found themselves at a map table exceedingly similar to the one Sha’leyen had in the admin tent on Melbek III.

“I think I’m going to see if I can’t find out anything about Enterprise’s next stop.” Sarah logged in on the mobile computer terminal and looked up Pezig’s Gate.

Seltun gazed at her, relieved she was still counted amongst the living. “I will tend to some reading.”

She was happy to have him with her and soon found herself learning about the Halliday System, Pezig’s Gate, and Alexander Pezig. Nothing struck her as particularly interesting to a ship like Enterprise and she was confident that the next stop after Pezig’s wasn’t a ski vacation Starfleet thought they deserved for working so hard.

At this point, she was sure the question to ask was what connected Melbek III and Pezig’s Gate? Alton had repeated, twice, “And Mr. Scott said something about not having to deal with any of these shenanigans if we’d have gotten away from Melbek III before the banshee showed up and hurt his precious silver lady.”

Maybe the two places had nothing at all to do with one another and that was of course the most likely explanation. “Seltun, what was the name of the merchant vessel that almost sank us back at Melbek III?”

“MV Sweetness, registered out of Trego Delta.”

That didn’t sound quite like what she was looking for. “That’s the real name of that ship, right?”

Seltun thought for a second. “I believe so.”

“Didn’t Chris say it was going by something else? I think I remember him talking about a temporary reg and fabricated transponder data that it took him and some of the others in communications hours to backtrace to Sweetness.” She didn’t know if stress and infirmity blanked out part of her memory or if she never heard the whole story in the first place.

“That, I cannot know. I was not present for any such discussion.”

“I’m going to see if he can’t meet us down here for lunch.”

  
  
  
Chris O’Dell was practically glowing in the dark in contrast to the shadowy collections space. “ _You needed me my lovely_?”

“ _Ewe, Chris_.” She screwed her eyes shut for a second.

“Look, I know that yesterday I said that you’re one of maybe three women in the universe I’d cross the aisle for, but you’re kind of engaged to someone who’d take my head off if I made the littlest play. Besides, I despise cheaters, and my man the Krampus deserves some respect as your partner.” A huff and an eye roll, O’Dell slid his skinny ass into a chair.

Sarah countered, “We’re not engaged, Chris.”

“The hell you’re not, honey.” He offered a thumbs up to Seltun. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Relieved for the change of subject, Sarah repeated Alton’s story and the miserly results of her, probably extreme boredom-induced search, and asked what he’d told her before about MV Sweetness.

“Hmmmmm, this is interesting.” If Chris had not found his niche in Starfleet, Sarah thought he could have made a good career out of portraying villains in campy movies. “So, here is what us and the boys down in engineering came up with that was subsequently added to later by Mr. Spock, Dr. Tralnor, and Lt. Commander Tay. MV Sweetness is in the Camden Sector picking up a whole shit-load of mining equipment, most of it diggers, dump trucks, graders, that kind of stuff. They’re on a legitimate haul, everything is above board except the ship is traveling and trading as MV Toluca Lake and the crew manifest on file is a complete fabrication. Whatever, maybe they just weren’t interested in paying taxes or something, we come across a lot of civilian craft that do both of those things, not because they’re run by criminals, but low margins means purse strings are tight and staying in business means putting the screws to the government.”

“I had no idea.” Sarah knew very little about ships, especially merchanters and their bottom lines.

“Most people don’t until they get into a job like mine. Anyway, this MV Toluca Lake is captained by someone calling herself Rose Littlebird. After Laura Hillyard, aka, Rose, gets done just about killing us over a bunch of fucking rocks—”

Seltun tried to rectify O'Dell's perception. “From a geologic standpoint diamonds are—”

“Not worth dying over.” Chris kept going. “We did some digging, learned what that boat was really called, where it was actually registered and home ported, and collected some of the other aliases that ship has gone by. The previous captain of this beastly cargo hauler turns out to have had a bad habit of not fully engaging the transponder override when he took her out under assumed names. We’ve got enough from that to tease out the genuine details and also have enough so we know when we’re looking at the same ship running false credentials. That way, if we ever encounter MV Sweetness again, no matter what they call themselves, we’ll nail them.”

“That’s good. What I’m wanting to figure out is how, or if, Melbek III is connected with Pezig’s Gate and is MV Sweetness that connection?” She felt less sure than she had earlier that either of these places had anything in common. “I’m probably chasing phantoms right now because I’m getting stir crazy.”

“Well, your friend here, Lt. Commander Tay, traced MV Sweetness to a place called Vittel’s Star. From there, she thinks it likely went back to Trego Delta for purposes of turning the diamonds over to the AVDL crime lords who run that place.”

“Oh.” Sarah’s brain chucked up some random details she wasn’t sure she’d ever need. “Dr. Tralnor and Lt. Commander Sha’leyen, weeks back now, when Alton and I were coming in for an instructional session, were talking about Sohja having just left Trego Delta.”

Seltun said, “That does not sound as though it is coincidental.”

“Nope.” Chris agreed. “Don’t sound coincidental at all.”


	120. Chapter 120

Jim didn’t know what it said that Billie’s face was showing visible surprise of his description of what had gone on last night after he and Bones bolted from dinner. “ _Wow_ , Jimmy.”

“Wow is something of a misnomer if you want my opinion.” He’d gotten both books out where she could see them, the proof that he was crazy enough to do something she was clearly questioning if he possessed the idiotic streak to see a plan like that to fruition. “And with everything else I’ve seen and heard today, I’m convinced that we’re heading for the end.”

“I’d say you were taking an extreme view.” She was blessedly not one of those people who’d fling platitudes trying to build false esteem. “But if Sohja tells you to expect bodybags, we need to brace ourselves.”

“I don’t know how. . .” He trailed off not caring where that train of thought would have taken him.

“How about we don’t do breakfast this morning and we brighten one another’s day instead?”

Almost asking what she meant, he understood right away as she ran her hand up and down his chest before sliding her fingers between his bare skin and waistband.

  
  
  
Careful examination of the traffic moving up and down the hallways, and even with Petty Officer Handler consulting Nurse Patel, it was imperative that Sarah not be seen in bioarchaeology. Handler motioned for Chris and Seltun to head out first so they could go a few steps in each direction, keeping the path to the turbolift clear.

“Good luck, Sarah.” Handler said, right before the young medical microbiologist stepped out and went to her left.

She quickly caught up with Seltun where they slipped into a lift car and immediately jammed the door just the way Vince Biltmore explained so that the system wouldn’t shoot an alarm down to engineering. They had about ninety-seconds before they had to go up or down at least one stop before coming back for Chris.

No time left to spare, the communications officer tapped _Shave-and-a-Haircut_ on the sliding door. Once inside, Chris told the car to send them to the bridge. As the single one of the three of them with a Bridge Officer Certification, he had the clearance to both go to the bridge and step out onto it without an express invitation.

“Get the tourist reactions out of your systems right now.” O’Dell prefaced with under ten decks to go. “We don’t have the luxury of letting you gawk.”

“Fine by me.” Sarah didn’t know if nerves or the movement of the lift had her stomach wobbling.

“I do not gawk.” Seltun replied.

“Kind of like I don’t sleep with men?” Chris sniggered. “You gawk at Sarah all hours of the day and night.”

Before anyone could let off another comment, the car stopped and the door swooshed open.

  
  
  
A voice he recognized but couldn’t immediately put a name to asked Captain Kirk for a moment of his time. Looking over his left shoulder, three of Tralnor’s lads emerged onto the bridge. “I hope you’re not playing games, boys and girl.”

Billie’s attention captured, she was up from her station, going toward the lift, and considering whether she was throwing them out now or letting them offer some flavor of harebrained excuse for interrupting her experiment.

“Hold off a second, Captain Cody.” Kirk got out of his chair to face the gatecrashing trio. A name for the milky-complected kid popped into Kirk’s brain. “Repeat that, Lt. O’Dell.”

“Begging the Captain’s pardon, Sir, myself and Lieutenants David and Seltun need to share some information with you about our—um—next port of call.”

“Billie?” Kirk was glad she looked less prepared to bounced them all down to the brig. “Let’s the five of us take a short walk over to the conference room.”

“I am joining you.” T’Lal invited herself along and Kirk sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her no.

  
  
  
It wasn’t more than a cursory pass over the three junior officers’ information than T’Lal was up and doing something on the computer terminal. Kirk, trying to keep some levity in the situation found himself thinking, _Spook-spookedy-spooky-spook_.

When those oversaturated green eyes flashed in his direction, he hoped he wasn’t too screwed. Why he forgot that some of these people could hear these hyper-focused thoughts he subconsciously aimed right at them, he didn’t know.

He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Sorry.”

T’Lal returned to what she was doing and Jim had to prompt Lt. David to repeat something to make it look like he wasn’t caught out for thinking silly garbage at the freighter pilot. He was distracted again when she extracted something about the size of a stick of gum from a trouser pocket.

“This is a modulating extension overwrite device.” She plugged it into a port on the machine and sent the screen to the room’s projector. “It significantly lowers the likelihood that prying eyes can intercept this call.”

He didn’t ask what call or where she got such a nifty piece of equipment. Lt. David finished telling what made her want to draw parallels between places. Lt. O’Dell gave the skinny on how the Enterprise had a recognition algorithm ready to launch if they thought a ship was too reminiscent of MV Sweetness.

“It would be my suggestion, Sir, that we start searching for Hillyard’s ship the instant we drop out of warp and start getting up close to this planet.” O’Dell finished.

“Don’t have to ask me twice. Jimmy?” Billie replied to an enquiring look.

“Agreed, Billie.”

T’Lal’s screen went live having connected her call. Another MacCormack, a woman, dressed in the same style of traveling clothes Mollie had worn, was setting down a coffee cup and motioned about something with a data padd clenched in the other hand. Once still, it was plain her surroundings were that of a VIP compartment aboard a commercial transport.

“Livia, please explain to the good captains why it is imperative that Laura Hillyard come in alive and stay that way.” T’Lal kept to her feet.

Kirk was aware that one of the bodies not found on Melbek III was that of a Lt. Veddah. It sounded like he hadn’t yet met the same fate as so many of his crewmates from the USS Seren. If they could rescue this kid, find a mass murderer, bring Spock home, and finish out the Advanced Aerospace tests, Jim swore to himself that if he were to drop dead next week, he’d die happy.

After hearing about t’hy’la bonds and betrothal links over the last few days, he thought he was prepared for Livia’s description of the life-support link between Veddah and Devil Woman. “How is it possible for them to have established a psionic union of that impact? If I’d just seen this person destroy my ship and everyone aboard, I wouldn’t be clamoring to get inside her head no matter the state of my post-trauma reaction.”

“It may not have been a conscious choice, Captain Kirk. When compromised like this, Vulcan minds can only take so many powerful direct blows before a support framework is needed to allow an individual to remain cogent. Majorly upset the balance of one of these brains, lingering damage not healing and inescapable, if the closest mind is even a fraction more stable, disparate individuals can join together unintentionally.” Livia’s intonation gave a lot away about how Jim and his people were expected to follow what she had to say.

Kirk did appreciate the seriousness of the situation, but the full impact of the Captain Hillyard/Lt. Veddah dynamic didn’t entirely hit him until he saw Seltun couldn’t keep the worry for his fellow Vulcan out of his eyes. “And does it work out all the same if we get him to sick bay and her to the brig the second we beam them up and high-tail it out of there?”

“I must direct that you don’t separate them.” Livia’s insistence did not offer a modicum of wiggle room. “Until I’m there to assume the meld to keep him going, we don’t know if he’s in such a state that he needs constant physical contact with her to keep benefiting from their joining or not.”

“I see.”

“I hope so, Captain Kirk. Should Lt. Veddah die because his life support system was removed AMA, that’s homicide.”

“ _Shit_ , that’s grim.” Billie said. “How quickly can you get here?”

“Probably not fast enough. That’s why I need you to follow my instructions exactly. When I’ve explained the details to you, I’ll have T’Lal route me to your CMO where he and I will have a very nuanced discussion about Laura and Veddah’s medical care.” A sip of coffee and the neuropsi healer was relaying more information. “Buffalo Bill will understand, but Kirk, your experience with Vulcans might not be applicable in this particular situation. Lt. Veddah is both very young and severely injured. Therefore his behavior is an unknown quantity right now. I’ve had the opportunity to converse with his family and read all of his records that I could get my hands on.

“Until now, medically, he’s been perfectly healthy. Psych profile tells me he’s a normal member of his species. There’s one exception to both of those claims that I’ll get to in a moment. He put forth a successful petition to graduate early from secondary school and achieved status as an emancipated minor. He left home at sixteen for Starfleet Academy.”

“Lt. Veddah and I had some elective courses together.” Seltun said. “He chose to join Starfleet because it was the most expeditious way to get his life exploring the stars started. I believed then that he was too young to not be on Vulcan.”

“Those two years of additional psionic training and discipline might not have made much of a difference in this specific case.” The healer drew Seltun’s confusion. “At fifteen, his bondmate was killed in an absolutely gruesome accident. Of course, there was some temporary brain damage involved, but as far as organic defects are concerned, he’d recovered brilliantly by the time he was a sophomore.”

“Is that the reason he’s hooked on a human supremacist who wants him dead?” Kirk still struggled to find good enough motivation for a Vulcan to join forces with the likes of Laura Hillyard.

“If she wanted him dead, he would already be gone and we would never find the body.” T’Lal’s matter-of-fact tone didn’t do nice things to Jim’s nerves.

Kirk clearly recalled Admiral Holt saying she’d take Laura’s head mounted on a plaque if she could. “So we bring her in alive, that’s fine. When do we have the power to arrest her and send her to the nearest holding facility?”

Livia said, “Until we pull Veddah through, I can’t give you a timeline on that, Captain. From where I’m at right now, there are too many unknowns and I’d be irresponsible if I offered so much as a guess about it.”

“If I may postulate, Hakausu Livia, is the Lieutenant being unattached a contributing factor?” Seltun, even in a room full of people who knew what he was talking about couldn’t come out and say so directly.

“Until I can examine him, I can’t tell you. He shouldn’t need to take a wife at his age, but I can’t make a single guarantee that’s not what happened.”

“Maybe Dr. McCoy can figure out a way to get him away from her. . .” Kirk thought aloud.

“Remember, he is an eyewitness to the murders of three-and-a-half dozen Starfleet personnel.” T’Lal added that factor that the prosecution needed this kid to strengthen its case against Laura.

“Okay.” Kirk said. “We come out of warp. I’ll get this bunch to work running that recognition algorithm so Billie and I don’t have to sacrifice any of our engineers. We find MV Sweetness and its captain. Laura Hillyard and the Vulcan come in alive. That should probably keep us out of your hair, Captain T’Lal.”

When Jim got a dose of side-eye instead of confirmation that she was glad he’d been given something to do, that earlier unease from T’Lal intensified. Deep breath and he thought, _Take me home, country roads_.

  
  
  
Over lunch, Alton nearly clapped at the news that Sarah would be up on the bridge that evening. If there was one place on the ship were Nurse Chapel couldn’t sneak up on her, right next to Captain Kirk was it. “I don’t really have much more to say about the recognition algorithm. Vince and I were working with Mr. Scott on why we suddenly stopped dead in the water.”

“Is it anything you can share?” Sarah had wanted a scintilla more about this thing she was running and how it worked.

“Sorry. My lips have to stay sealed on this one.” He had no say on that.

“That’s okay, Alton.”

“If you guys find Hillyard and her ship, me and the rest of the boys down in engineering will keep Enterprise together so we can blow the Sweetness to kingdom-fucking-come.” He found that as more time elapsed post-Melbek III that idea of giving that captain and her menacing ship a taste of their own poison held vast appeal.

  
  
  
Sarah observed as Lt. Uhura got into the Enterprise’s personnel files and amended hers and Seltun’s to read that they had unfettered access to the bridge for the immediate future. For the medical microbiologist, this was a strange place to be. None of her professional goals included jockeying for one of the seats in the ship’s nerve center.

Chris, whom she’d only interacted with in a recreational capacity, a man she thought of as a bit of a slacker for some reason, was exceptionally competent in his job. Drop all of his teasing about everyone he had or was going to sleep with and there was a person who spoke nine languages, had the cool head and quick nerves to operate his station in times of crisis, and he was an effective enough teacher that she didn’t feel entirely out of place when he set her up to do her first mock run of the search protocol.


	121. Chapter 121

Kuznetsov looked great and sounded like she was rested for the first time in years. Playing chase plane was doing well by her. She threatened Jim that she’d keep Lt. Sulu and Ensign Chekov if she could find a way. His guys, including the communications specialist and sensor tech put in some serious elbow grease to get the USS Dragon into tip-top shape.

“The poor bastard. Of course, it had to be Veddah. He’s one of the most decent people I’ve ever met.” She said while Cosgriff shook his head at this news. “Fifty-two people on Seren, and he’s the one Hillyard winds up sinking her claws into.”

“Goddamn, he’s a nice kid.” Cosgriff added. “Give you the shirt off his back and. . . When I say nice, it’s not that formal friendly rubbish we’re all trained to do. He’s got a good heart.”

“Working so close with Seren, Cosgriff and I wondered how someone like Veddah could even function in the same room as a self-righteous prick like Franklin. It was hard enough for my XO and I to do it and Franklin was on a different ship.” Not knowing if Commander “Big Dick Swinging” Franklin was still of this world, Kuznetsov tempered her words and retained her opinions on the man. “What is this freighter identification protocol you’re sending over?”

 _An insurance policy against a cold-blooded killer_ , Kirk thought. “The faster we find MV Sweetness, the sooner we can get our man back and draw this whole fucking Melbek III nightmare to a close. My guys came up with a little ditty to make it easier to sort needles out of haystacks. You’re our second set of eyes.”

“Very good, Captain Kirk.” She listened to someone, not in the frame, nodded, and said, “We’ll be seeing you when we get there.”

Now that something of relevance was happening with Melbek III, Jim had to turn his attention to the wooly mammoth in the room. What of Mr. Spock?

  
  
  
“When are we touching down, Sir?” Joe asked Sarek. The human had just finished taking a turn with one of the handguns, proving he was at least a self-described ‘half-assed shot.’ He wasn’t going to win any marksmanship trophies, but he’d handle himself well enough.

“I have not gotten the notification that we have officially arrived at Pezig’s Gate, though the Enterprise dropped out of warp twelve-point-two minutes ago.”

Joe, his back to Sohja, left her where she could still see the ambassador. She caught the older man’s attention. Leaving Joe to clean his weapon, she and Sarek, hand on her forearm, engaged in a mind-to-mind exchange.

(When is the appropriate time to tell him, Sir?)

They looked over at the human who seemed to be happily muttering to himself about coconuts. Sarek said, (Save it for the immediate moment before we leave the ship.)

She agreed to the plan even though her choice was to have let him know days ago what surprise was in store for him. It was not easy to hold out. If Joe were any other person, she might have a concern that he’d harbor hard feelings. (Yes, Sir.)

“Do either of you two have a pair of black socks I can borrow? I’m standing here and I’m thinking, the closest I’ve got here with me is the set that is somewhat black, save the kitty cats riding unicorns. I like to wear those to formal performances and. . .”

“I have a pair of socks I will give you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Joe checked the firing pin on the gun. “Sometimes, it’s the littlest things that can make your day.”

  
  
  
Jim and Billie shared an incredulous gawp at one another. Could a place like Pezig’s Gate turn them away?

“We are not averse to you and your crew taking shuttles to the surface should you want to indulge in some shopping or try your luck at one of our luxurious casinos.” Their C and C rep, apparently wanting to give good customer service to a heavy cruiser he’d blocked from docking, went on. “Should you send us a manifest of those coming down, we will arrange for everyone to have a meal at any of our fine dining establishments, vouchers for a branded clothing item, and seven-hundred-and-fifty credits to spend out on the gaming floor.”

“Your offer is a generous one.” Kirk said, his brain still not wrapping around any reason Enterprise was being held off at the edge of the system. “However, we would prefer that we have the allowance to proceed into orbit. We’re only here long enough to retrieve some of our people who are exploring in the undeveloped areas of your world.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Kirk.” Computer input keys and the noise of that very same machine made it to Jim’s ears. The C and C rep went on. “As a private holding, Pezig’s Gate makes it policy to exclude all experimental craft from our docking facilities and out of fixed or irregular orbit patterns.”

“The temporary NX prefix for our registration is the hold-up?” On what planet, besides the painfully obvious, did such a dumb policy come into play?

C and C shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. The regulation I’m looking at right now, this rule is a century old, and put into place back when experimental spacecraft had a higher propensity for unpredictably busting out into catastrophic, high-fatality, very expensive incidents.”

 _Hands tied, shit_. Kirk thought. And it wasn’t like he could issue a guarantee that Billie’s engine blasters would absolutely not take out this ship and any others nearby. “Damn.”

“Like a lot of people, especially those of us who’ve made working with starships our living, I’ve followed the exploits of the USS Enterprise. The small boy still inside me would give up dessert for a year just to see her from a pin-sized porthole here on PG Orbital Two.” Unhappy from a personal and professional point, he said, “I do apologize, Captain.”

“That’s fine.” Jim said, even though it wasn’t. Kicking and screaming would accomplish a mountain of nothing. “Some of my command team and I will hitch a ride with our companion ship, USS Dragon, which you’ve assigned a berth.”

“We can even send high capacity passenger shuttles should you want to let your sailors take a break.” C and C’s computer kicked up something. “According to Customs, we don’t currently have any Starfleet personnel of any capacity as guests of Pezig’s Gate.”

“You’re sure?” Kirk’s ears popped at that declaration.

“That is because the individuals we seek are working for the Vulcan High Council, entirely outside of their purview as officers from the Enterprise.” T’Lal said.

“High Council.” C and C repeated, rolling the words around in his mind. “I don’t know that we ever get Vulcans coming through these parts. While I look that up, I’ll get a message fired off to Dragon letting them know when their berth opens.”

“Thank you.” View screen blank, Kirk dragged a hand down his face. “Two letters, two teeny characters in the alphabet, this is nuts.”

“Unfortunately, to run tests like this, you can’t go bopping around as an NCC.” Billie was visibly perturbed. “If something happens, first responders and the like have a set regiment on how to handle the ship. For an NCC, it’s a standard rubric, like a preflight checklist. NX boats harbor unknown variables and there’s an entirely different safety protocol they follow. I totally understand where this place is coming from. Too bad it’s more inconvenient for us.”

“Orbital Two C and C is calling us back.” Lt. Uhura announced.

“Go ahead.” Jim held fast for what he’d determined was irritating news.

“I ran a check for entries and exits for the last half-a-year. We’ve had one Vulcan cross our border. That’s it.”

“May we get the name?” T’Lal set her station to low-power mode, transferring the steering of the ship over to Lt. King. Standing, she eased up the steps from the lower level.

“No problem.” A few informational screens bypassed, C and C handed off what T’Lal wanted. “His name is Batai Zhalan-t’Mazhyon, that’s a mouthful, and he filed for and received a backcountry exploration permit in conjunction with a business partner who arrived with him.”

Kirk appreciated people who let juicy details pop out. “You don’t happen to know who this business partner is?”

“Right here, Captain Kirk. Name listed as Nyleen Connolly. They’re relic hunters, collecting small things to move into the resale market for the tourist trade. I don’t know if that’s helpful.”

“Very helpful indeed. Thank you for the valuable information.” That has to be them! Kirk had to remind himself not to jump up and down. He cordially signed off and sank into his chair. “Uhura, get Kuznetsov for us.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Captain Cody, Captain Kirk, I must speak with the ambassador.” T’Lal had the call button for the lift punched. She wasn’t asking, she was doing.

“Things are on pause right now.” Billie said. “Let us know before you leave?”

“I will let you know, Maeve.”

When the lift took off, whisking the pilot toward Cargo Bay 6 no doubt, Kirk addressed the lads. “What do you three need, if anything, to take along to the Dragon?”

“I’ll send you a list, Sir.” Lt. O’Dell immediately went to task while telling the other two to run the cold re-start sequence.

The viewer, live again, granted a vision of Kuznetsov, incredulity plastered across her face. “For once, Buffalo Bill, it is not you playing the taxi driver.”

“Tell me about it. Give me a diplomat to babysit any time.”

Jim voiced his own frustration. “ _Just not the ones we’ve been dealing with lately_.”

  
  
  
Granted a night of reprieve, parents and friends and starship captains weren’t going to appear until mid-afternoon tomorrow. That Pezig’s Gate wouldn’t allow a ship like the Enterprise to do more than linger on the edge of the solar system seemed excessive. Passenger liners, private shuttles, and freight haulers were the only hulls the Kennuk had seen as they’d approached and began their descent.

Seated around their table, the four of them tried to hash out why T’Lal had told them Starfleet’s flagship was banned from this harbor.

“They might not even have room for a ship the size of the Enterprise.” Tralnor ventured. “And if we do need some heavy-duty reinforcement, isn’t it better to have Dragon around? She’s smaller and more agile than our ship.”

“She is also an exact copy of the ship Laura took down with MV Sweetness, right?” Mollie wanted to have her facts straight.

“The hardware may be the same, but there is a crucial difference between Dragon and the dearly departed Seren.” Sha’leyen said. “Dragon has a competent captain and first officer and a cohesive crew under their command. From the information and anecdotes I’ve collected on Commander Franklin, he’s lucky he didn’t have to fend off a mutiny before he foolishly decided he could take down Laura.”

“It might be our experience in dealing with her when we were kids, but you’d have to be thick as pig shit to not take Laura seriously. If she says she’s going to blow your ass off, hold on to your jockstrap.” Tralnor wasn’t making light of Seren’s demise, but he’d spent hours, days really, living in the last memories of that crew, and could outline just how people felt about the man and why. “Most of Franklin’s crew, save for a few knob-polishing cronies, knew Laura could take out a slightly slower, barely less-fortified, inexpertly commanded patrol ship.”

“Even without previous contact, she is obvious enough about her intention as she speaks that it is a sign of delusional thinking that Commander Franklin believed he would defeat her.” Spock seemed a little less tightly wound in the knowledge that James Kirk was not going to walk into their camp tonight.

“Should any of you wonder how someone like that achieved the rank and posting Franklin did, it’s because the General Secretary of the Federation Security Council is Franklin’s godfather.” Tralnor and each of the other three people with him were from old, powerful families that had potential to set their children up for life, pulling strings and striking down walls. “We were all raised knowing hard work and dedication was expected from us. His so-called achievements were handed to him rather than earned. You can’t have a massive sense of entitlement and be an effective leader at the same time.”

“What do you suppose the odds are that this guy’s godfather unlocked a back door to get him into the Academy?” Mollie didn’t need to speculate. “So, this Franklin is a piece of garbage. How does someone like Veddah wind up on USS Seren?”

“His age and his demeanor.” Tralnor visually checked Spock for confirmation and got a slight nod. “He just turned twenty-two. The higher-ups wanted to get some light years under his belt before moving him up to a more involved posting. There’s not a massive need for hardcore science on a patrol ship. Rather, this kid would get to spend a couple of years working on working with other people.”

“Is he that unsocialized?” Mollie asked.

“The simplest explanation is that Lt. Veddah was overly amiable.” Spock probably didn’t have a point in his life where his biggest problem was being too nice.

“And his reward for surviving that fetid assignment is a life-support meld with Laura Hillyard. I hope to hell we can save him.” Given the tone of her voice, Mollie didn’t seem so sure.


	122. Chapter 122

Kim-sha ralash-t’mu-yor. _The last of the night music_ , Sohja thought. As she entered the shipboard venue, she was very aware of her mortality, that she, her friends, the people caught up in this with them, stood a chance of not returning to Rec Room 2 for another performance.

Buffalo Bill motioned Sohja over to the captains’ table. “Hey, Tinkerbell.”

“Maeve, James, good evening.” Sohja said while taking a seat.

“I’ve got something for you.” Captain Cody handed over a data padd.

Sohja thumbed the unit on and read the list of loaded files. The one she had an interest in at that instant was called, _Keys to Praxidike_. “That is most generous of you, Captain.”

“Tell T’Lal if she scratches the paint I’ll have to write her up.”

“Certainly.”

“Also, tell her thank you for playing along. I know, we both know, that she doesn’t need the information I just gave you. If she wanted to just take that shuttle, hell, take this ship, there’s not one damned thing we could do to stop her.” Buffalo Bill, desperate to add some humor to lift the concrete-encased mood in the room couldn’t even convince herself that they weren’t facing a doomsday scenario. Lack of facts about the tavalik duv-tor and its retrieval didn’t stop Cody’s instincts from delivering nerve-wracking details.

“May I ask a favor of you, Maeve?” Sohja, used to taking care of herself or having the means to make the arrangements to do so, was not entirely familiar with how to approach this request.

“Always, anything, what do you need?”

Jim Kirk nodded along to Bill’s declaration. “If I can be of any help, let me know.”

“Tomorrow morning, I would like it if you could see us off from the shuttle bay.”

“Too simple, Tinkerbell.” Buffalo Bill sussed out that more was going on than Sohja was willing to share. “I want fair warning. What’s the piano that’s going to fall on my head?”

“We may need your help restraining Joe and not hurting him.” That was all the more detail she thought she could give without risking an intelligence breach. “More importantly we do not want him injuring himself.”

“You want us to hold him down so you can what?” The female captain’s stark expression withdrew the color from her cheeks.

Blinking rapidly, Sohja had to capture her undulating thoughts to craft a response.

“Sohja?”

The mental equivalent of a combat boot to her gut had the Vulcan reeling. She wasn’t finding the right words, nor could she bring them to her tongue if she’d had them. She was in fear for Joe.

“ _Sohja_?” Buffalo Bill’s distinct unease was of concern.

Cool, human fingertips placed on the back of her hand offered enough of a jolt to break loose from the suffocating worry. She got up. “I must go.”

“I’ll come with you and we can talk about it in private.” Cody said.

“Yes, my friend.” Sohja, to nearly all the people in that room, was her normal self, but Maeve knew her well enough to read the encroaching storm in a Vulcan’s eyes.

“Let us know when you want to leave. Billie and I will be there with bells on.” James’ assurance left Sohja feeling marginally less lost.

Sohja’s head in a place of hazy discomposure, Buffalo Bill took point and led her off to a vacant lounge. “I’ve observed enough over the years with Sarek and T’Lal to know that what you’ve got to do tomorrow fits the true definition of horror. I’ve seen them leave, half scared to death like you are right now, and they’ve always come back. Every time.”

“When the best preparation for a task is mastering acts of violence so as to accomplish one’s goal. . .” She wanted to hold onto her head and press it against her spine and shake this consuming emotion.

“I don’t know what you guys are looking for or how to find it even if I did have a description. Call and we’ll send fire from the sky, backing you up the entire way.” Captain Cody’s realistic views granted some temper.

“Promise me something, Maeve?”

The human’s fear, riding so close to the surface, threatened to retract on that reinforcement she’d offered. “I promise. . .”

“Do not let Joe believe that my death is his fault. It would destroy him when we’ve so recently walked him back from the brink.”

“Jesus, Sohja.” Maeve’s eyes began to glisten. “Tell me what this is all about and I can help for real.”

“My sincere regrets--”

The captain leaned her head back in an attempt at disguising her overflowing panic. “. . . _They always come back_.”

  
  
  
“Hey, where’d you go?” Joe perpetually knew when Sohja’s equilibrium shifted in the wrong direction. That, of course, would set him on edge for her. He was a habitual fixer, someone who wanted to heal the world, usually through laughter brought on by criminally stupid dick jokes. He wasn't one who gave much of a damn what became of him.

“I put on a happy face so I do not have to clench my jaw until I frown.” She repeated something he’d told her at several points in their long acquaintance. She joined him where everyone was watching a junior officer from linguistics play one of Telemann’s Twelve Fantasias for Flute.

“He’s pretty good.” Joe wanted to smooth a few burrs before they addressed their main topic. “If I played flute, I’d have this composer’s entire library, all seven-hundred-odd pieces he wrote.”

“Telemann was one of the composers I studied while in the flute studio at USC. His work is very approachable for contemporary and in my case, non-human, audiences.” She’d minored in music as an undergraduate, which was just her continuation of the musical studies she’d done as a child and young adult as part of her mind training. “When we come back, I will review the repertoire. Unlike you, I do not play as often or as much as I should.”

_It’s okay to be scared_. He shoveled the words, the sentiment, at her, no finesse or directory assistance. She would hear him or not. If not, he’d have to touch her and draw the unwanted attention of everyone who thought they had a right to comment on his and Sohja’s relationship.

(It is not okay to be crippled by fear.) Barely a hand’s breadth between them, she didn’t know that she was a good enough psion to put out a response that he could hear. (I cannot let it infiltrate my ability to follow the proper path of reason.)

“You won’t let it.” Joe said, proof that he'd picked up her telepathic message. “You’re too good, Sohja, stronger than all of this crap. And when we get back, I’ll brush up on my piano sight-reading and we’ll play the pants off this here concert hall.”

“I would prefer that everyone’s pants firmly stay on.” She’d unwound by a few seconds, running with Joe’s inane quip.

“Yep, yep, that’s what they all say at first.”

Telemann concluded, Buffalo Bill was threading her way back into the room, a touch of the asinine in her expression. She pointed at Joe and Sohja, motioning that they needed to come down to the front of the room. Cody declared, "There’s no hiding anything from Captain Bill.”

“Soazh, I think we’re screwed.”

“My name is Sohja.” She automatically rebuked. “And you are correct. I do believe we are boned.”

  
  
  
Spock emerged from the trance a more-centered and less-agitated man that when he went in. His day of following Tralnor round and round the wyantium-walled maze in that clothes shop was frustrating in its almost complete lack of productivity. Tralnor wasn’t jousting windmills, something was of vast importance in there. He just wished they could figure it out.

“I have a very important question for you.” Mollie entered their side of the shuttle and sat with him on the edge of the bed.

Knowing she wasn’t the type to walk him into a joke, he didn’t have to exercise the same kind of caution like he might if Leonard McCoy had come up and said the same thing.

“I’ve been doing some thinking.” Her emotional state was somber, filaments of hope threading through, as she took his hand. “It’s about us and what’s happening after we’re done here.”

Their physical connection granted him the insight that this wasn’t about leaving him to die in agony on the altar biological imperatives. That spared him the sonic boom of dread that went with such notions. Mollie would see him through if they both survived Pezig’s Gate. This was about other obligations of Vulcan adulthood.

“What do you think about when Enterprise goes in for her facelift, you knock another one of those pesky familial obligations off your list and we try for a baby?” Absolute sincerity came with her words. “That should even get Sarek off our backs about this whole marriage thing.”

And in the midst of terror bound in shadows of pre-Reform hell, Spock looked at her and smiled.

  
  
  
Loaded down like a trail horse, Veddah still had the responsibility of keeping Laura on her feet. She wobbled along the access they’d found to the vault that let them come up from under the city without emerging anywhere in the burg. Greeted by local geology, the eternal power source for the prison’s information and administration center, they’d traverse the shores of this expansive blue-green hot spring, following for nearly a kilometer before taking an old path leading south to their camp.

Steam and sulphur swathed them in a fug that condensed and dripped down what was left in her hair. Under the bandana she’d made from a torn-off chunk of the sail/parachute/ tent Veddah had found, it was almost like her scalp was sweating. She tried not to think about her head as they traversed the mineralized husks of prehistoric conifers.

“Is there any fever reducer left in the kit?” She’d want some the moment they made it back to the car, if any remained.

“No, there is not.” He stood with her, one hand constantly on the ready to grab on should she start to fall. “I dosed you with the last of it yesterday night.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She wasn’t going to say that she felt like she was warmer than he was.

“You are too pale, more-so than before.” He shifted the infant’s coffin so it was no longer digging into his side and grinding the buckle on the backpack strap into his ribs.

“It’s the bleeding. Sometimes it makes anemia worse.” She accepted his offer of a hand and wanted to draw on some of his vigor to give herself the encouragement to keep going. “I didn’t think iron supplements would have been useful for anything other than taking up precious cargo room.”

“As it is not possible to stop this part of your fertility cycle right now, is there anything you can do?” He let her take some tentative baby steps and get back on their way.

“I don’t see too many steakhouses or spinach salads in these parts. I’d even try licking a cast iron skillet if I thought it might help.”

Food was a safe out for him to bypass his worry and give focus to something he could take some control of. “What am I preparing for dinner?”

“I could eat a kilo of hummus right now. No crackers, nothing with it, bring me a spoon, and set me loose.” She gave a weak grin, offering neither of them hope nor comfort.

  
  
  
Veddah put Laura to bed not long after they’d made it into camp. She ate the beans he heated up for her since pintos in chili sauce were the nearest they had to humus. She’d intermittently doze off between bites but kept herself cogent enough to eventually have a full meal. A small dessert of dried coconut chips gave her the impetus to describe the healer who’d met with T’Pau.

He was bolstered that with this person’s treatment that he had the chance to recover and be himself again. What he wanted to know was Healer Livia’s experience treating humans. If this woman could help him, she could help Laura. Veddah turned to ask his wife if she knew the healer’s credentials, but she was unconscious, no returning from this stretch of sleep.

Calculations, knowing where Starbase 21 was, how far it was from Vulcan, and then the distance between the starbase and Pezig’s Gate, Veddah didn’t have to fear for himself unless Laura died. The healer needed six days to travel and he didn’t know when she’d left Vulcan. He adjusted his conservative best estimate to nine days until her arrival.

“You do not have nine days, Adun’a.”

He left her to sleep and formulated what he needed to say to Doc Hoskins because Laura needed a hell of a lot more than a couple tabs of fever reducer and an iron supplement. What he’d give for a bioscience tricorder, something to give him more information on what she was suffering with. He’d made that very comment yesterday where she teased him about feeling lost about not having his Starfleet toys.

Comm powered on, gut weighted with dread, he placed his call.

  
  
  
Like a nebula made of dreams instead of stars and luminous ionized gasses, the twinkling cobalt blue had come to Veddah, pulling him from his sleep. Soft light gave his and Laura’s makeshift bed and everything around it a cerulean cast, part of his analytical mind giving credence to an argument that what he saw was a figment, but he knew with certainty that this presence was real.

He reached out, failing in his attempt to touch it, knowing before he tried that he’d not brush against something that registered in his brain as an entity or life form. His finger sailed through the seemingly sourceless glow.

_What are you_? He implored, mostly seeking the answer within his own head. No feedback, no reference of where else to look, he closed his eyes to the extant universe and retreated back into his and his wife’s shared mind-space.


	123. Chapter 123

The fiddly fucking little metal tab on the seam molding where it fastened into the floor scraped off the end of Silvio’s fingernail. “Shit!”

He wanted to bang his head into the ground. He’d been fussing away at the dumb thing for the entire afternoon and had nothing to show for it besides dirty clothes, smarting fingers, and sweat droplets stinging his eyes. What he needed was a real lever to un-wedge his bounty so he could get out of this fucking cage. Another brute strength run at prying the strip off the wall.

Giving a grunt and ready to try to put his foot through the bulkhead, his plan failed again, this time in the form of a twelve centimeter cut flaying open the top of his hand. He flopped back on his ass and tried to staunch the bleeding. “You can’t keep me in here!”

  
  
  
McCoy was less-than-thrilled. That afternoon, he’d been informed that he got to stay behind on the Enterprise whilst Jim and Buffalo Bill caught a ride to Pezig’s Gate. He’d tried to argue that people who’ve been in the bush for as long as Spock and company had been that they needed a good doctor to check them over as a matter of course. USS Dragon’s CMO was a nice guy and a competent physician, but he didn’t tend to a crew that went down to weird planets and got roughed up. Not wanting to hear about relevant experience and why those hours were important, Jim repeated his stance and called the matter over.

“Oh, screw it.” He griped and left his office. The longer he sat around brooding over this, the more agitated he’d get. It was that mindset that sent him over to Rec Room 2 when he’d needed to finish some paperwork and evaluate if the engineer’s mate admitted to sick bay around noon was recovered enough from this bout of exhaustion that the doctor could cut the kid loose and let him keep resting up in his own bed.

He went to make a left down the corridor that would spit him out closest to the best lift to get him to the nightly variety show. In the lift car, he wasn’t thinking about much other than maybe snagging a sandwich from the mess hall, provided the offerings were more appetizing than sweaty cucumber and gritty ham-like meat-substance. Of all the sandwiches he’d eaten in his adult life, the crap served on the Enterprise made up the top ninety percent of piss poor offerings in this category. How hard did the kitchen staff have to train to become so ineffectual at making the most basic of dishes? Dr. Tralnor had the right idea, peanut butter and jam on toast.

On the right deck, distracted by his stomach, he nearly rounded a corner when his ears picked up on familiar voices. Sarek and T’Lal were deep in discussion about something. Knowing it was rude to listen in and not giving a damn about decorum, he was thinking they might offer up a line of evidence he could present to Jim as a good enough reason to take a cantankerous doctor along on tomorrow’s adventure.

“Is it possible for Livia to meet us any sooner?” T’Lal, preternatural creature that she was, had concerns for someone not entirely familiar to the flagship’s physician. “Should Lt. Veddah need a higher level of assistance than I can offer, he will suffer in the throes of his condition.”

Sarek sounded, if McCoy had to pin a label on it, cagey. “He will be in capable hands with you.”

“Sa’pi-maat, I am not a healer.”

“Your wide experience in psionic matters will see you through.” The ambassador’s vote of confidence was solid.

“My experience as you call it is as a student and T’Kehr of Kotekru Kaylara.”

“Your university studies are not something to brush to the side, T’Lal.”

“I did not go to medical school, Sarek. In the most basic description, I am an intermittent pilot with a day job as a biochemical pharmaceutical researcher. Lt. Veddah cannot depend on me, and even with help from Mallia, we cannot meet the standard of care.”

Sarek issued a sigh. “You are more adept than you offer yourself credit.”

“This boy, he needs Livia.”

“We are currently aboard what qualifies as an experimental vessel, it’s new propulsion system outstripping the standard. How fast can you get Enterprise back to Starbase 21?”

T’Lal said, “Theoretically, I could get us there in approximately seventeen hours and that is only if this airframe can take those stresses. For the sake of expediency on our end, I might wind up killing us all.”

The two Vulcans meandered away, leaving McCoy alone to contemplate what all this meant. One of the answers was in allowing him to tag along. He might not be a Vulcan Healer, but he was a damned fine practitioner. In concert with T’Lal, he’d get this kid through whatever left her so rattled.

Arriving at the Rec Room in time to catch a red-shirted ensign play the flute, he adhered his ass to his usual perch. “Jim, I don’t care what you say on the matter, I’m shipping out with you in the morning. Don’t try and argue with me about it either.”

Expecting a mild to moderate telling off, McCoy was ready with a sharp reply, only there was nothing to reply to. The captain gave a nod in agreement. “You’re scaring me, Jim.”

“What if he tells me to go fuck myself?” The weight of the universe bogged Kirk down. “What if, after all of this, he never speaks to me again? We both know he’s an expert at nursing silent grudges.”

“Right now, maybe we should focus on surviving the next few days. Once we’ve determined we’ve physically made it out in one piece, then we can dive into this hard shit.” The doctor was relieved to notice that the panicky, reactionary, and subconscious fear/love/loathing that Kirk wore on his face when discussing this topic as of late was replaced with thoughtful contemplation.

“I just hope we can come out of this together, Bones. I don’t know what I’ll do if we don’t.”

  
  
  
“ _No, you get him in here, as in brought to me_.” The voice sounded tinny and strangely pitched as it left the frying comm speaker and reverberated around the exceedingly small brig. “ _I don’t make house calls unless he’s looking to choke on some dick_.”

Somehow, this was turning out better than imagined. Silvio silently thanked the razor-sharp strip of molding for doing exactly what he wanted it to: get him out of his cage. While the crewman consulted with Hoskins and Morgana on the best way to handle the former first officer between the cell and sick bay, Silvio struggled to keep a smug expression off his face. Laura, when she got her ass back up here, was going to find a new captain in charge and she’d never use words like “adequate” or “good but not great” as descriptors for him again.

  
  
  
“Looky, it’s your fan club.” Bones pointed out the parents. “I’m getting the idea that they’d rather have a triple root canal sans anesthesia than be here right now.”

“They’re—Remember what Sohja said last night, we need to be scared.”

“Who’d have thought such a thing would exist as a bunch of weary and terrified Vulcans?” The doctor moved his mouth like he wanted to say more but indicated toward the entry again. “Someone’s up to no good.”

“I just hope she’s not coming after me with that smirk.” Jim was glad after having seen how grim Billie had been when she’d left with Sohja that she seemed to have found a dollop of happy and wanted to inflict it on her friends.

“The other morning, our buddy, Mr. Joe Bergman, claimed he was still doing some acting work here and there, and wound up letting slip that his most recent role was portraying Ambassador Sarek.” Her smile got wider, taking on the appearance of a comedic shark. “Now, I had to ask myself, what kind of movie needs a fictional representation of a real person? The answer to that? An historical piece of some variety.”

“Oh no!” Joe buried his head in his hands for a second. “You didn’t.”

Sohja didn’t glare like a human might, but she was less than entertained at what her friend had planned. Jim thought Billie very lucky that Vulcan temperament kept Sohja from yelling at or throttling the starship captain. “What do you think, Bones.”

“I think we’re going to get some good elephant dick action.”

Wheezing so he didn’t have a gutroll of hysterical laughter, Kirk found himself thinking, _With friends like Bones and Billie, who needs enemies_? _They’ll unintentionally embarrass you to death_.

“I’ve still got plenty of friends in Hollywood. Still get lots of offers to come out of my acting retirement and make a mountain of money. So, I called in a favor for which my punishment will be starring in a commercial for a chain of coffee shops.” She held up a data chit.

“Bill, no. I don’t know who you talked to, but please, spare me.” Joe’s voice and face fluctuated between mild irritation and humor.

“Caroll deBlasio.” Billie said.

“ _That bastard_.” Now he’d given in to his general good nature. “I hope you get to work with kids, cats, stage moms, and the chicken and stars soup director.”

“That’s just mean, Joe.” She went up to Tralnor’s desk, powered on the terminal, and stopped a second before sliding the device home. “I’d like to give warning, Caroll says this isn’t the final trailer, but it’s as close as he’s got right now that can be seen by the public.”

Joe turned and looked at Sarek while giving a shrug that said, _Sorry, I had no idea_!

“Who’s ready to see if Joe here still has his acting chops?” Billie drummed up some excitement, with McCoy clapping to get her going. “Okay then.”

She got the file queued up and the projection system going. “Joe, do we have an official title for this? Caroll doesn’t know.”

“Production working title was _Hands Across the Sky_. I’d suggested _Ska’rivak Duta’es_.” He said.

“ _Off-Kilter Diplomacy_? I kind of like that.” Billie snapped her fingers. “The first one is too schmaltzy.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” Joe crossed his arms having accepted the inevitable.

“This should prove interesting.” Sohja said.

Play activated, Jim had learned not to make any guesses about the things that graced the screen in here.

Gold titles on a black background announce the production company and shimmer out to a new screen telling the audience what they’re about to see is taken from recently declassified information.

Older Female Voice: _The Federation Security Council will want to handle this in its own way_.

A similar title gives the names of the two executive producers, one of whom is Joe Bergman.

Older Female Voice: _They know not what they will do is wrong_.

The next title gives three names, all some sort of regular producer. Sohja pops up there.

Older Female Voice: _For they are too caught up in the pain of their past to look beyond that which is no longer a threat_.

Directed by someone whose name rang a bell for Kirk, but he couldn’t assign any specific project to them.

Older Female Voice: _If we do not stop them, this will escalate into a war you and I both know the Federation cannot win_.

An over the shoulder soft-focus shot of a man sitting at his desk, speaking to the woman who’d done all the talking to this point, one last line from her: _Are you prepared to do as I have asked_?

Man at Desk: _I am ready_.

The picture cuts to the same man, from behind, as he walks the concourse at the UFP building in Paris. Dark, short hair, neatly cut, tailored clothes that showed even Vulcan robes were not meant to be worn as a potato sack, fluid, deliberate movement, ascending the stairs to the Council chambers.

Antique mahogany double doors open to admit this person whose face the audience finally gets to see as he steps in. Tight focus on this stony exterior as questions/statements fly at him from all directions. Unblinking, zero reaction to the verbal assault, he situates himself in a place where most everyone in the room can see him.

Wide shot, the assortment of aliens and humans, all of whom are frustrated and upset. One shout accuses the man of withholding information as another infers he hasn’t got the heart to give a damn about what’s happening, so long as Vulcan keeps its nose clean.

Speaker of the Chambers: _We won’t put up with this anymore, Ambassador. Vulcan can’t keep to its pattern of participating only when it feels like the odds are in its favor_.

Joe Bergman as Sarek, the makeup, the ears, brown contact lenses, the set of his jaw, how he holds his hands, the way he sweeps his eyes across all the faces in that room. . . It gave Jim Kirk the screaming creeps.

The perfect back-tilt of his head, same deeper breath before speaking, the same regard that said he was tired of being surrounded by idiots all the time, the actor spoke: _Feeling the odds are not an activity in which Vulcans indulge_.

Pissy facial reactions, grumbles, and an unknown voice calling Sarek a sanctimonious prick were immediately followed with the Speaker warning the quorum to keep their personal opinions to themselves.

Speaker of the Chambers: _We are facing a threat unlike anything the Alpha Quadrant has ever seen. There are those among us here today that want to believe its nothing more than teeth-gnashing and sabre-rattling in an effort to catch us with our pants down around our ankles_.

Not so much as a blink or a twitch at the Speaker’s description. Sarek remains statuesque.

Speaker of the Chambers: _Then there are the people like me. We want ships scrambled to the Neutral Zone right damned now so we can take them on head first if they are indeed bold enough to cross over and invoke a response. An armed response_.

Sarek: _Such an action makes escalating tensions flashover, thus guaranteeing the reaction you are looking for in order that you may light up the sky with artillery. That is what you do if you wish to guarantee the deaths of untold billions and a drawn-out conflict that will not see an end in ours or our children’s lifetimes_.

Andorian Representative: _Just like a Vulcan to stand there and lecture, too cowardly to offer real solutions, too quick to condemn in the guise of advice_.

Hoblian Major General: _Unless you have a plan of action, step aside and the people who aren’t afraid of a little conflict will get this taken care of_.

Sarek: _Given what is coming if you stay the course, you will learn the true meaning of fear_.

Cut to what looks like a farmhouse surrounded by orchards, Sarek stands next to a woman who looks remarkably like Mollie MacCormack because she is Mollie. He says: _You are the best and my only choice for this mission, Livia_.

Livia: _I guess I don’t understand why you need a healer, specifically me. The Diplomatic Corps has them on staff for emergencies like this_.

Sunset casts them in an orangy-gold light.

Sarek: _They do not have the background that you do. I would have to assemble an entire team to perform less than half of what you are capable of. Do not put me in a place where I am forced to draft you into this cause_.

Livia: _Let me say goodbye to my daughter before we go_?

Spacedock, private shuttle, dressed for travel, Livia’s medical equipment stowed. She asks: _What are we waiting for_?

Sarek turns toward the sound of someone entering the craft from the loading ramp. He says: _We were down by a pilot_.

Aviator glasses perched on the crown of her head, heavy denim jeans, engineer boots, bomber jacket, Sohja as T’Lal cuts quite the figure. She looks them up and down, saying: _I am told a certain matriarch has arranged for us to meet the cause of these escalated hostilities_.

Livia: _Whatever saves us from having to look too hard ourselves. If what we’ve been told is the truth, a hunt like that will sacrifice too much valuable time we don’t have and lead to immediate failure followed by death on a wholesale level_.

Cut to the Romulan Neutral Zone, where nothing sinister is visible but everyone knows the trap is there, cloaked, patiently waiting. The starscape blurs into a vision of what a drawn-out campaign of bloodshed would do to the Federation is accompanied by the Older Female Voice from the beginning of the trailer: _It is only in the quality of the service we give to others that our civilization is remembered. Humans may complain that we have overstepped our authority where the truth of their inaction is found within the canon of their laws_.

Space battles shift to Sarek/Livia/T’Lal in disguise, running through an open-air market as they’re chased by armed Romulan soldiers. Weapons fire. Hiding in a fetid alleyway until the cover of night. A purple dawn. Arrival at some rural outpost, soldiers not far behind, heroes escaping on rocket sleds, danger from every direction. A shot where it looks like they’ve careened off course and are going to hit a wall constructed of adobe brick.

Older Female Voice: _Do no harm to those that harm you_.

Black. A sky of stars. Door opens inward a crack, casting out a shaft of dim light.

Older Female Voice: _May we, through an act of compassion, offer closure to this ordeal_.

The Ambassador heads up the trio, pilot on the rear, protecting the healer.

Older Female Voice: _May we stop both sides from letting off one shot_.

Cut to the bridge of a Romulan warship. The man in the center seat says: _If they fail_. . .

Back to Livia, setting up her equipment, examining someone not visible onscreen.

Romulan Man: _The Vulcans seem to think you can save her_.

Tense, Livia looks to the speaker, a fully decked out Romulan Nobleman, and clearly does not want to make any promises she knows she can’t keep.

Romulan Man: _And so you’ve got the proper motivation_. . .

Guards level disrupter rifles at Sarek and T’Lal. Their faces, body language, nothing betrays what they did or did not feel in the face of death.

Bridge of the Romulan warship. Background voices. Captain: _We won’t let them live long enough to regret their mistakes_.

Livia removes the stethoscope from her ears and drapes it around her neck.

Romulan Man: _Well_?

Older Female Voice: _Work intelligently and cast out your fear_.

Now there is a palpable reaction. Livia hesitates. Sarek appears staid while T’Lal shows a bit of fire.

Older Female Voice: _May peace be upon us_.

Fade to black.


	124. Chapter 124

“ _Absolutely fucking spooky_.” McCoy was the first person to break the silence after the house lights went back up.

“Holy shit, Joe.” Billie blinked and tried to get her thoughts to sync up with her mouth. “And you, Sohja.”

“You had asked why we did not meet up last year while you were on leave and I could not tell you. The NDA contained within my contract for the project did not allow it.” Sohja said.

“That’s where Mollie was too.” Billie still hadn’t recovered from what she’d just seen.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean to leave you high and dry. Under the original schedule, we’d have wrapped by mid-July, but the shoot went over because I wasn’t going to let anyone cut corners in the way me and the two girls played the parts. Rewrites, wardrobe, dialogue coaches, set dressers, I got our stuff dragged out in terms of prep. I sank everything the second unit had done and laid waste to another two weeks of supporting cast scenes already in the can.” Joe could have come off as some power-tripping Hollywood elitist, but what he said was from a place of sincerity.

“If the director and other producers refused to budge on putting forth accurate representations of Ambassador Sarek and any other Vulcans in the script, Joe was going to walk and take Mollie and me with him.” Sohja glanced at the real person she’d played. “The film would have died.”

“How the hell did you do it?” Dr. McCoy burned for an answer. “How do you prepare for a part like that?”

“How do you prepare for a part like that and not consult the individual you are portraying?” Sarek didn’t give anything away other than curiosity.

“I watched every talk, every interview, every moving image of you I could find in the archives. I listened to your speeches and I studied your books and monographs. I had the advantage of having lived with Vulcans and I spent a lot of time interviewing people who knew you well.” Joe made it sound simple.

“It did not occur to you that a consultation with me—” The Ambassador let Joe head him off.

“Sir, let’s face facts. When I was prepping to play this part, you had far more important things to do than talk to an actor. I didn’t want to be a pest and I didn’t want you to think that we’d do anything to make you look bad.” Joe was not wrong.

“I’m just blown away. It’s like you became him.” Billie said.

“I’m a good mimic and an even better researcher, but until recently, I’d only ever met Sarek once, in passing, at a fancy formal VIP gig the marching band played at.”

Billie snapped her fingers. “That last-minute thing we did at the Bonaventure when Mollie rounded a bunch of us up and we played to a ballroom full of stuffy old people?”

“That is the one.” Sohja confirmed.

“So, what I really had was a desire to see this picture done right. The story was amazing, unprecedented.” Joe smoothed out the tails of his shirt. “It was something that people needed to see, showing how we don’t have to be tribalistic assholes and that offering, for lack of a less tribalistic word, _humanitarian_ aid to our enemies isn’t a bleeding-heart response to a crisis. It’s about earning a modicum of trust and proving that you’re a person too, wiping the bogeyman off the map.”

The Starfleet audience didn’t know what to make of Joe’s proclamation. Joe wasn’t the one being threatened and torpedoed in Neutral Zone squabbles. “Do you know what’s the most remarkable point of this film?”

No verbal guesses forthcoming, Joe said, “I know there are preambles to all kinds of movies saying things are based on a true story. That captivates people, engages more of their conscious decision-making abilities. Too many of those claims are elaborations or flat out lies.”

“Okay, Joe, you’ve got us. What’s most remarkable?” Billie played along.

“That the events played out on that screen are not products of dramatic license. The mission you saw is true, it happened, and it averted a war.”

“Hold the comm, Bergman.” Dr. McCoy’s brain was spinning so hard the friction was causing his skull to smoke. “What do you mean by true? Be honest with us. How much of what we just saw, while it looks well acted and well produced, is weapons-grade Hollywood bologna?”

“I’d venture to guess it’s pretty damned accurate, Doctor.” Billie said, not elaborating on the subject.

“It is as accurate as it could be given the cast and crew did not have access to the same localities where over half of these events took place.” T’Lal didn’t need to say the locations were off-limits because they were in Romulan space.

“My real secret weapons in doing this correctly, I had a pair of top-notch consultants.” Joe addressed Sarek directly. “T’Lal and Livia kept this whole production on track.”

The ambassador didn’t challenge him, rather he seemed satisfied at the evidence of what Joe had done to keep the verisimilitude of that particular adventure. Sarek and T’Lal had a short telepathic exchange on an unknown subject then got up and left.

“That was a hell of a thing.” McCoy said softly.

  
  
  
“You were right, Billie.” Jim said as they stood in his living area sipping glasses of wine. “They really have gone into the Romulan Empire. You’ve got your proof.”

“Yeah, but this picture, whatever it winds up being called, has clearly set up their shenanigans as a one-time bout of the crazies. There’s not going to be any indication of repeat crossings let alone the artifacts they go hunting for. A single incident where they respond to a medical emergency to keep the galaxy from exploding in an all-out riot is a completely acceptable reason for cavorting with the enemy. Going full-throttle sub-rosa style Indiana Jones is a different kettle of sea bass.”

What she said made perfect sense except for one thing. “What’s an Indiana Jones?”

“Sorry, I still forget that not everyone is an historical cinema buff. Indiana Jones is an ancient film reference. He was an intrepid archaeologist who spent his downtime seeking out artifacts, mostly at the expense of the Nazis.” She grinned at something. “What I’d give to see Sarek in a fedora.”

“I’m leaving that alone.” According to the clocks, the day was officially ending. Kirk’s nervousness at setting out for Pezig’s Gate made his ears ring. He decided to admit something. “You know I’ve been worried about what’s going to happen when Spock and I meet up again?”

“Yeah? You should be worried, Jimmy.”

“We’ve got to survive another encounter with grim reaper Captain Laura Hillyard and her doom-bringing pirate ship just to have the chance of him deciding if he hates my guts to the point of never talking to me again.” McCoy could tell Kirk to suck it up and not be such a twat about this whole mess that he’d brought upon himself. Billie, she was a different kind of friend than the doctor. “And to repeat what you’ve so sagely told me, just because we fucked last night doesn’t mean we’re getting married. The only difference between you and me versus Spock and Mollie is that we don’t have a Sarek in the wings.”

“Well, my mom did seem really excited when I told her I’d be seeing you again.”

“Did you tell her what a bastard I’ve been?”

“Boy howdy. You’re lucky she’s in Pasadena and not here to dress you down.” Billie’s mom was, literally and figuratively, a character, one of those faces always seen in the background of shows and movies.

“That is a stroke of luck. Speaking of parents, what’s the real reason that Sohja wants us to throw a bon voyage party in the morning?”

Demeanor a shade darker, Billie said, “Don’t know. She wouldn’t give me any of the details. All I can tell you is that she’s terrified.”

  
  
  
“When my husband beat and raped me, I often retreated into my memories of you.” Sha’leyen had found Tralnor where he was in the admin tent writing something down. “You were my reminder that good people existed and that I couldn’t give up.”

“I wish there was something we could have done. If we’d known you were still alive, we’d have fought hard to save you.” Pen placed neatly at the head of his current sheet of paper, he said, “I hope you don’t think we gave up on you.”

“The severing of our bond was so swift and brutal that I didn’t think there was much chance for you to have survived it. There were many days where I bore the guilt of causing your death. While I hoped it wasn’t true, I believed I had killed you.” It didn’t matter that she had no culpability in the actions of the warlord who’d stolen her away.

“I loved you then.” He reached out a hand in which she placed hers. “I love you now.”

She took stock of her life at that moment, knowing that the chances that she and Tralnor should be on the same planet let alone close enough to touch was an astronomical crapshoot. “And I love you.”

“As I said to my sister several days ago regarding you and I, sometimes things just work out.”

“I know this isn’t a great place to be bringing this up, but I would rather it be in the open now and not a point of contention later.” She got her backside on the table where he put his hands on her knees. “When we are done here, I still have at least three more reconstructive surgeries. After that is over and I have healed, I cannot tell you right now that these procedures will work.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He didn’t say this to placate her, to mollify her worries about what would happen to him should she not be physically ready for the sexual component of their relationship.

“I thought I might have killed you once. I would certainly kill you with my inability to be your lover. I cannot be selfish in this matter. Know that when we leave this place, you are not beholden to me simply because our parents put us together when we were children. Prior obligations mean nothing when your life is on the line.”

“Let me explain my contingency plan.” Nothing in his bearing indicated that he’d be forced to leave her.

“Tralnor, should I remain nonfunctional, I become the cause of your death.” These months with him back in her life had her reconsidering if she could spend from now until the day she died alone. What backlogged ace could he have?

“Last year as I was getting ready to enter Officer Candidate School, Sohja showed up on my doorstep and informed me that should I not have anyone that she was stepping up to help me out. That plan can be modified and she knows that you’re dealing with the aftermath of grave, nearly fatal injuries. So, if you’re not ready by my next Time, if you’re never ready at all, I am taken care of.”

Speechless, she held his chin and kissed his face.

  
  
  
Because the cut was on his hand, Morgana ordered that Silvio be escorted to the sick bay at the business end of a gnarly, illegally modified Andorian phaser. This particular weapon, loaned out to Brig Girl, was from Morgana’s personal collection of handguns.

The dead man she claimed it from met his end, writhing in agony as he was slowly torn apart, molecule-by-molecule, from a single low-res shot. Morgana and this Andorian trader had gotten into it over a sales transaction gone bad. The Andorian couldn’t pull one over on the ex-Starfleet pilot. It happened that she was faster swinging a chair than he was drawing his sidearm. Silvio had seen this portable crime against humanity in action and knew it was not a pleasant way to die. Therefore, he pretended like he was entirely compliant with the orders coming down from the bridge.

Hoskins, that fucking weirdo, groped his own crotch and kissed the air at Silvio. “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a pretty face?”

Uncertain if Doc was serious or being a jerk for the sake of flustering Brig Girl, Silvio fought the urge to stomp the guy into the deck plates. “Way I hear it told by those in the know, I’ve got a nice ass too.”

The armed escort appeared queasy. “If you boys want to flirt, do it some other time when I’m gone.”

Hoskins laughed. “Little girl, get the fuck out of my sick bay if you’re so easily offended.”

“But, Morgana—” She tried to object and got shooshed.

The doctor stood, encroached on Silvio’s personal space, and used his hands to press on shoulders and to get the injured prisoner on his knees. Hoskins unzipped his pants.

 _Oh, fuck_. Silvio thought. _Of course, this has to be my only real chance of ditching Brig Girl and furthering my plans, assuming I don’t suffocate on the behemoth cock that’s rubbing on my lips_.

“Open wide, princess.” Hoskins had a mean smile.

Silvo matched the wicked grin and said, “Come to momma.”

  
  
  
Sohja did some remodeling while Joe was in the shower. He emerged, hair still stringy-damp, and said, “I hope you didn’t do this on my behalf.”

“No, Mr. Bergman. I am confessing to my selfishness.” She beaconed him with a come-hither motion. “I did this for me.”

He grabbed an additional towel and dabbed as much moisture from his head as possible. “Sometimes, Sohja, you’re allowed to be selfish.”

She’d pulled the mattresses off the bunks down to the floor, where they’d been shoved together and made up as a double. “I have been cold the past few nights and am in need of a heated blanket.”

“Happy to oblige.” He smiled and crawled in beside her. “Goddamn, I love you.”

She didn’t have to say she felt the same way. He got his arms around her and within seconds, they were both asleep.

  
  
  
Tralnor told Sha’leyen to go to bed if she wanted. He’d decided that he needed to go over a few more things before the invasion began tomorrow. Another tender kiss and she told him he’d better make things quick before she decided to hog all of the blankets.

Sensing that she’d returned to the shuttle and waiting until she’d settled into a conversation with Spock and Mollie, Tralnor cracked open one of the standard-issue first aid kits that came with No. 742. He sorted through it until finding the adrenaline jabs. Useful for more than anaphylaxis, he checked the carton for the instructions, followed up with the warnings, and decided that he could make this device work to fit his needs.

First thing sorted, he fired up the self-contained science compendium computer that Spock and Sha’leyen had heavily consulted in their attempt at sorting Laura’s illness. Tralnor needed anything that was available on wyantium. Partially, he was wondering how in blazes his ancestors had gotten so much of it here to begin with. It was extraordinarily difficult to transport. The same properties that made it useful for those who didn’t want to be overheard also affected the vehicles that hauled it. Only the most primitive, analogue spacecraft could safely move the rare metal.

The entry he happened upon talked more about wyantium in an historical context, which while interesting, wasn’t terribly helpful at this point. He knew it had a lot of applications that would be seen as cruel and unusual in this modern-day, but he was seeking a workaround. What was the practical solution to this problem?

It took until a dull heading with a couple of lines beneath it give what came off as a throwaway comment. The authors had added that one of the ways wyantium prospectors check an area to see if the metal was present was to use shortwave UV light to make mineral impurities fluoresce. Depending on where the wyantium originated from, these impurities would show as different colors. Sphalerite would look blue, Mesteric fluorite had a pale lavender quality, and dolomite was supposed to take on a reddish glow.

He knew exactly where to source one of these lights. Sha’leyen kept one in her crime scene kit that she’d been sure to bring along. Satisfied that he had a strategy for the following day, Tralnor performed his final task before turning in and wrote a goodbye letter to his family.


	125. Chapter 125

Tralnor couldn’t get to sleep. He was battling his own anxiety in addition to that of his three companions. He leaned his head so he could smell Sha’leyen’s hair. A faint whiff of vanilla sugar registered to his nose which made him only slightly less edgy.

Of everyone in the shuttle, she was the least nervous. Belon was a harsh place to grow up and it was riddled with mean trinkets from the past. She took the torture devices, evidence of mass murders, and the fact that they were searching a prison a lot better than he was. He thought that her previous experience with artifacts of malice had not only saved their lives on multiple occurrences, but she’d saved them a pile of agitation at their mission.

In the admin tent, Sha’leyen had been a calving glacier, dumping a gargantuan chunk of her preoccupation for the future. It took some more talking, more convincing, that he didn’t care if she never had sex with him. What he wanted and needed out of a relationship with her was her.

His family had chosen well when they decided on Sha’leyen. Where Spock’s bonding exploded into a dumpster fire because T’Pau wanted two old, rich, respected families to unite, to hell with her nephew if things didn’t work, Tralnor was established with a complimentary partner. Spock had deserved so much better.

With Tralnor, he and Sha’leyen were both from rich, old, respected families, but they never would have been betrothed if she was another T’Pring. Mental compatibility, when overlooked in these situations was the cause of disaster. It pained Tralnor to know how poorly Spock had been treated throughout this ordeal. Beholden to the wishes of an out-of-touch dowager, knowing from the time he was a little boy that this wasn’t going to succeed, no real alternatives because of a stupid family feud, total rejection from a cold, lazy, greedy woman, the years, the hell, came to a head only passing when it ended in murder.

Later, it was determined that Jim Kirk had survived thanks to McCoy’s wiley actions, Spock was still left in a place where he believed he’d killed his friend and would still spend the rest of his life with that wound on his soul. That he was capable of such action, even in a state of biological and psychic devastation, was hard on a man who so deeply valued the morals and philosophy with which he was raised.

Tralnor hoped when this ordeal concluded and if they survived that Spock could finally find dignity and love with the right person. _And how lucky some of us are that the right person is found early and positive connections made_ , he thought.

  
  
  
It hurt to swallow. It hurt to fucking breathe. Silvio felt like he’d unhinged his jaw and inhaled a boa constrictor. Snot, tears, and saliva intermixed with the semen strung on his chin. At least this part was over.

“You took it like a champ.” Hoskins wiped his dick with a wad of tissue paper and began on the process of getting that monstrous penis crammed back into his clothes. “I’ve never thought you were the type, but you’ve given head before. Your experience shows.”

Could he talk? Silvio coughed, his brain wanting to barf up the sperm in his stomach. “Well, I was an art student.”

“Makes sense.” Did the doctor never completely lose the vicious luster in his eyes? “Tell me, are you as good at taking a cock as you are at sucking on one?”

“Probably not that thing.” Silvio wanted to tell him to hurry the fuck up and fix his hand. Best not to take such a confrontational stance and piss off someone like this.

“Do you want to know why I rarely sleep with women?” Hoskins finished cleaning up, got some surgical gloves on, and took out a tube of dermaplast and a box of butterfly bandages.

“Can’t say the question has ever crossed my mind.” Silvio refused to be humiliated for doing something that was going to save him in the long run. 

“It’s because men are weak. They break easily under pain and go mad when they think someone has routed their masculinity. Essentially, they’re pussies and I exploit that.” Wound wash and antiseptic on the cut, Hoskins went on. “Women are tough, hard even, when it comes to matters of the flesh. Their bodies are far more accommodating than ours are.”

Silvio felt Hoskins’ hot breath on his cheek.

“ _I am something of a sexual sadist_.”

“No fucking shit?” Silvio had nothing to lose at this point. “If all you want to do is fuck, just say so. Finish fixing my hand and I’ll bend over and grab my ankles.”

“Are you saying you’d enjoy it?” That took some of the gleam from his eyes.

“I’ll fucking hate it. You’ll get all the blood and screaming and writhing you want because that monster in your drawers is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.” The dribble on his chin was starting to crust and itch. “The last guy who I let fuck me, many years ago now, was the proud owner of a cocktail weenier if I put him next to you.”

“Did you like it?”

Cold dermaplast made the tips of his fingers tingle more than they had. “Not particularly. He was of the find a hole and fuck it variety and didn’t give a shit about the person underneath him.”

“Well, I’m not buying you dinner first.” Butterfly bandages pulled the edges of the wound together. “Oh no, our audience has fled.”

Sure enough, Brig Girl was gone.

“So, now you’re going to try to overpower me and get what you want.”

“That’s not—” A sting on the outside of his left thigh and the sound of a hypospray forcing a drug into his body, Silvio said, “What the fuck?”

“It’s a muscle relaxer.”

 _And a fast-acting one_ , Silvio thought. “All I want is when this is over, you set me loose. I wasn’t going to cut and run.”

“It’s going to keep you from clenching up on your pelvic floor. Since you’re not a regular customer of the dick in your ass club, it’s the only way I’ll even be able to get the head in. After that, you better bite down on something.”

Getting a little woozy, balance failing him, Silvio asked, “Is this how you lost your license?”

“Yes and no.” Another layer of dermaplast to keep the exposed bits of skin along the edges from drying out and curling back. “Everyone on board thinks I was kicked out of the veterinary profession because I was forcing myself on my patients. That anyone could accuse me of such absolutely revolting behavior saddens me. I have not and would not deliberately harm an animal.”

“Not the answer I was expecting, Doc, to be honest.”

“I lost my license because some people are willing to do anything, and I mean _anything_ , to save the life of their furry, feathered, and scaled best friends.” Done with the hand, Hoskins set it down. “The governing bodies think that I can’t be trusted with people.”

Silvio didn’t need to say he agreed with that statement.

“Over here and don’t fall.” Wobbling his way over to an exam table, Silvio swooned as Doc raised it up about fifteen centimeters. “You are in luck today, Mr. Mazzi.”

“I don’t feel very lucky.”

Hoskins put on another glove on his right hand and retrieved a bottle of surgical lubricant. “I’m not usually one for niceties like these.”

Turned around, on his elbows, he faced into the padding on the table. Silvio tried to shed his own clothes and was stopped. Doc wanted to unwrap him like a present.

Hoskins peered down on Silvio’s posterior. “This is lovely.”

“Glad you think so.” Given a pillow to smother the sounds of his own pain, Silvio held on and didn’t so much as give a hard intake of breath when that first well-lubricated finger went in.

Doc’s other hand went up the back of Silvio’s shirt, thumb hooked on the hem, and the whole thing went up until he felt knuckles on the base of his neck. Positive he was about to be choked or bitten, a series of soft kisses down the center of his spine was not what he expected. Second finger in and this encounter was strangely devoid of the agony he’d expected.

“There are so few who have ever been willing to try me that I can count on my fingers the number of times this has happened. When you’ve got anatomy like mine, even a large sum of money paid to the recipient isn’t a guarantee of consent.”

His own dick defiantly engorging at the internal stimulation, Silvio nearly laughed. “Hope I didn’t kill the mood by allowing you to do this.”

More kisses. “You’ve merely changed it a little. But, just because I’m going to be gentle doesn’t mean it will be any less painful.”

The former XO was leaned up and over the exam table, Doc stretched so the one hand could still work on opening him up. Silvio found himself face-to-face with Hoskins. When the disgraced veterinarian began kissing him on the mouth like they were old lovers, it was the start of a whole new level of weird.

  
  
  
Shortly before midnight, Veddah awoke to a new disturbing sound. Laura’s right lung had developed a rattle. Whether the cause was infection or fluid retention, he didn’t know. He got up and checked the comm on the chance that Doc Hoskins had sent an update about this latest shipment of medical supplies and if he had an idea of what was happening to the Sweetness’ captain. No missed calls, no messages, no indication if the screwy medic had any intention of helping out a dying woman who was no longer much of a threat to him.

By torchlight, Veddah went over to the stack of boxes next to their vehicle. He’d placed the coffin in the rear cargo area so it would stay completely out of the elements. Even in a cave, it was susceptible to the degradation of the humid environment. What he’d left out was the wad of cloth Laura took a chunk from to create her bandana.

Unrolling the fabric, he’d decided that he wanted to take a closer look at the item stashed inside the folds. It looked like any number of jewelry/shoe/trinket boxes on the outside. He removed the lid and looked into the empty cavity within. Like the box they’d liberated from Trego Tech, this one was just one of billions of storage items extant from pre-Reform times.

(Veddah?) She called.

(Yes, Wife?) He replaced the lid, set it back on the larger boxes by the car, and went back into the sleeping area.

(Please come here.) She held her arms open and he did as she suggested, putting his head in her lap where she could run her fingers through his hair. This quietly went on for a few minutes before she spoke again. (I have something to tell you, something I’ve kept back from you.)

She’d been so insistent that she didn’t keep secrets, he was confused. (What is that?)

Her fingers landed on the skin covering his left temple. (The Sentinel, I turned off the kill settings right before we left Vittel’s Star and headed for Trego Delta.)

Stunned to absolute silence, all he had the power to do was wonder at her reasoning for such an action.

(So, the dead man’s switch only works one way now.) She coughed but couldn’t bring anything up. (I didn’t want to kill you. . .)

He stayed quiet for a moment and let her finish her thought.

(Now, when I die, it will still hurt you, but I won’t be leaving you dead too.)

(I must take you back to Sandia. You need medical attention, urgently.)

She looked down at his face. (I don’t think it matters, Veddah. Whatever this is, a backwater shithole like Pezig’s Gate isn’t going to have the practitioners or facilities to help me. One more day. Don’t ask how I know, but I get the notion that we’re looking in the right spot for our box. It’s in near the baby’s coffin. I don’t have any evidence beyond that gut instinct. If it’s not there, we’ll leave in the evening.)

He took in his tarnished golden girl and broke a little inside.

  
  
  
One last round of poker before the shit hit the fan, at least that’s what Lt. Avery called it. The mood was not as light as it had been in evenings past but there was near-universal relief amongst the lads that Sarah would be on another ship for a while and completely out of Nurse Chapel’s grasps. Chris, who usually cleaned house wasn’t mentally in the game and that gave Rohit his first series of wins in several weeks.

“If you ever thought that you didn’t want to see an angry Hoblian because they’re scary enough when they’re in a good mood, Mr. Q’pik’s reaffirmed my thoughts that they’re—Holy shit is he pissed.” Avery said as he cast off four of his five cards in a desperate attempt to rescue this hand.

“I thought he might actually melt into the deck plates.” Vince Biltmore shuddered. “His head started to get all lumpy, like peanut brittle.”

“Lumpier.” Avery added. “Much lumpier, like a mad guy who has a vein in his head that throbs when he yells, but this was way more off-putting.”

“He was just fucking scary. I’m so glad that he wasn’t mad at me.” Vince dumped one of his cards and then smiled at its replacement. Biltmore wasn’t a very good poker player.

“What’s got his ear flaps in a twist?” Andy didn’t get rid of anything. It was either a Royal Flush or a hand of total garbage.

Chris cleared his throat. “Our NX registry is keeping us from docking. Pezig’s Gate has a zero-tolerance policy on experimental ships, even if they are the legendary USS Enterprise.”

“And Q’pik is livid that this boondocksian nowhere planet is telling him, indirectly, that his engines are dangerous.” Vince said.

Sarah also decided to keep all five of her cards. “I can see why he’s pissed, but the guy from C and C did have a point. Even we don’t know if we’re sitting on a massive time bomb getting ready to explode.”

“I don’t like any of this. We’re the bigger, faster, better-equipped ship, and if our officers are in trouble or we need a more expedient way to incarcerate Captain Hillyard, we’re stuck with USS Dragon until she can get our asses hauled back here.” Chris plainly thought Pezig’s Gate was being idiotic.

“If Crazy Bitch Captain and her prisoner are both sick, shouldn’t they be less of a threat?” Rohit attempted to inject some optimism into their next scuffle against Sweetness and her crew.

“We’re 0-2 against her.” Unusually reticent, Billy the Sixth finally contributed his thoughts. “Two times in a row, she got us, using nothing but the grey matter between her ears. Sweetness never so much as had to open a torpedo bay. She bollocksed us. None of you got into the down and dirty on what she did to our computers. The only reason we’re not dead is that she chose to let us hobble away.”


	126. Chapter 126

It wasn’t the pain that shook Silvio as much as Hoskins’ overtly romantic behavior. That was the truly unbearable part of this encounter. Pillow clenched in his teeth, debating if he should smother himself to avoid some of this misery, it was the kisses, caresses, and kind words that left him truly disturbed.

“You’re beautiful when you’re like this.” Lips on the back of his neck and another whisper, “So, so beautiful.”

Another excruciating thrust and Silvio thought, hoped, he’d pass out. He’d seen the damage Doc had done to other men having been in the audience for a couple of Hoskins’ shows on Vitalis. Brutal, relentless, there was biting, hair-pulling, beatings, strangulation, any number of things to inflict more pain and humiliation, elements that added to the doctor’s feeling of power, that was conspicuously absent right now.

The cool applicator end of a hypospray went against his upper right arm and he heard, “. . . anti-inflammatory and pain killer. . .”

Silvio didn’t catch the third thing listed because a hand reached around and started stroking his cock. He’d lost his earlier erection for obvious reasons and now his brain was having a hard time with the pleasure signals firing off in his lower body.

“Oh, you’re good.” Once more, to the hilt, and more muffled screaming. “Almost there.”

Medicines starting to kick in and a further realization of horror for Silvio, he thought he might climax. It had to be the drugs.

“That’s a good boy. That’s it, come for me.”

A staggering gasp in his ear and the generous play with his penis, the unthinkable happened. Silvio found his back arching with the contortion of a powerful orgasm. This set off Hoskins, whose own organ spasmed and poured hot ejaculate into Silvio’s body.

Doc collapsed onto him, massive dick continuing to twitch with the aftershocks. “Hold nice and still for me so I can soften up a little and pull out easy.”

Silvio nodded, not wanting to suffer more pain. He gave one last screech as Hoskins began to withdraw and his body started to remedy the stretching and tearing exacted on it. He was told to stay where he was, even when they’d uncoupled. What now?

“Let me get wiped off and I’ll get you cleaned and patched up.”

He remained bent over the exam table, afraid that if he tried to stand that he’d collapse to the ground. There was a trickle down the inside of one of his legs and a combination of fluids dripping off his scrotum where they’d oozed out of him during intercourse.

“You’ll need to be on a liquid diet for a few days.” Hoskins was back. “And there’s nothing here that won’t bounce back from this adventure.”

Carefully pan bathed, salved, and mended where needed, Doc wrapped a sheet around his waist, got Silvio upright, and walked him over to a draped-off patient bed. Situated on his side, and blankets brought up over him, one more dose of something and suddenly things didn’t hurt so bad.

“I’m off to go get a mop.” One last creepy graze of fingertips on the side of Silvio’s face and Hoskins said, “We managed to get blood on the floor.”

Silvio nodded, not surprised by any of the commingled residues. When he heard Doc leave the room, he said to the empty sickbay, “ _What the hell just happened_?”

  
  
  
Laura gazed down on her husband. (You had to believe you were in peril or the guise wouldn’t have worked. You had to be convincing to my crew, to Dan Shelley, to anyone we came across. I purposely manipulated your emotions to try and lock in a positive outcome, as in keeping you alive and in one piece.)

(The stun setting remained active.)

(For your own protection, especially after you threw that kid out of Professor Goodwin’s office.) She sniffled and gave a half-hearted cough. (You really would have killed Silvio if I hadn’t stepped in and whacked you with the Sentinel. I don’t think you could have lived with yourself in the longterm even though he’s exactly the kind of person who deserves what he earns. He attacked your wife. . .)

(We need to go back to sleep. Dawn is not far off.) He placed his hand over hers and held it against his cheek.

He felt cooler to her, which meant her wicked fever still had not broken.

(Veddah?)

(Yes?) He was moving about getting them rearranged where they could lie down and hug on one another.

(I’m sorry that you ever met me.)

  
  
  
Floor scrubbed and other evidence of their tryst washed away, Hoskins poked his head through the curtain. “Do you want something to help you sleep?”

Silvio blinked and stared at something, not the Doc. “I’m fine.”

“Just let me know—We have visitors.” Hoskins stepped away and greeted the incoming.

Brig Girl had come back to check on the prisoner she’d abandoned, the only difference was now she got to spend a stretch in the cage too for abandoning her post. Morgana was with her and pulled back the curtain. “Crewman, you are damned lucky this man is still alive.”

“I couldn’t take it. It was bad enough watching the oral. When it started looking like they were actually going to have sex, I had to leave before I threw up.” Brig Girl’s pathetic explanation wasn’t going to suit Morgana.

“How is Lt. Ryan on this fine night?” Hoskins made it a point to address her by her former Starfleet rank.

“I’m disappointed.” Morgana said. “Oh, not with you, Dr. Hoskins, not even with this dumb bastard you fucked into oblivion, it’s with crewmen who think it’s okay to shirk their duties.”

Silvio got moved to his other side where he could see the people talking.

“You can kick the girl out of Starfleet, but you can’t kick Starfleet out of the girl.” The Doc went to the head of the bed, picked up a scanner, and ran a diagnostic of some sort.

“I’m also impressed, Silvio. You really wanted out of that cell.” Morgana folded her arms over her chest.

“He was amazing.” Hoskins let Silvio have a warm little smile.

“I lost a bet about two years back. The loser had to spend the night with the good Doctor. I didn’t have to take it in the ass, and I couldn’t walk right for almost a week.”

“I was gentle with you as well, Lt. Ryan, wasn’t I?” Hoskins sent a derisive glance at Brig Girl.

“Yes, you were, Doctor.”

“I would have puked, Morgana, straight out puked.” Brig Girl was trying to create some sympathy and wasn’t winning on that front.

“That’s fine. You’ll be taking his place in the brig tonight. He’ll be here since he’s not in any condition to be anywhere else.”

“But, Morgana, I—”

Where Laura would have said something cutting, Morgana shook her head no.

“Please, Morgana. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Brig Girl’s pleading only made her sound more pathetic. “Don’t lock me up.”

“What other punishment would you deem acceptable, Crewman?” Morgana didn’t mean for her question to be answered.

“I’ll do all the cleaning—”

“You're a pathetic child.” She then asked the Doc something where she did want a reply. “While we’re in the spirit of exchanging forms of punishment, are you up to another round? That would keep her out of that cage.”

Hoskins laughed. “I’m going to need a few days to recover. Getting off twice in one night is almost unheard of for me, my anatomy being what it is.”

Brig Girl had started to cry. Morgana, who’d by this time lost any patience with this person, grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. “Maybe you should have considered your options before signing on with this type of ship. . .”

Alone again with only the veterinarian for company, Silvio said, “Well, are you going to let me sneak out of here?”

“Let me make sure you’re stable first. Get some sleep, then I do believe I have some options for you.”

  
  
  
Billie’s reaction was to _laugh_? These were her friends he was talking about, her friends who’d made their own blue movie. How was that funny?

“I think I’d like to see this tasty bit of porn.”

“You don’t think its, I don’t know, _strange_ that Tralnor would give it out as an instructional video?” With over twenty-four hours to have thought on it, Kirk couldn’t come to terms with what he’d seen and why it was in his friend’s possession.

Unable to shake her smile, she said, “Um, no. It’s not even the tiniest bit weird. Maybe you should break into Spock’s quarters a third time and watch it again. If Sohja says he’s like Tralnor is in the sack, then I can definitively say that you’re going to be too fast and rough, even in your slow mode.”

What was wrong with the people associated with Tralnor? “So, I’ve got to change the way I ask him questions, I’ve got to change the way I think about him and Mollie, and I’ve got to change the way I have sex?”

Laughing over, smile mostly gone, Billie didn’t quite nod. “Back in college, Tralnor and I would screw around sometimes, and from my own personal experience and going on what Sohja said, I think you need, I mean absolutely need, to watch that video like a dozen more times. You’re the Jock Ballock in this equation, but also keep in mind, that when they made that, they’d been lovers for years.”

“This is maddening.”

“Not everyone is going to be appreciative of your style of expert banging. You’ll get to where you can probably be a little faster, a little harder with him than what you saw in that video, but you can’t start out that way.” She cradled his sort-of pouty chin. “You get in there and do to him what I like you to do to me, you’ll probably put him off sex and might not ever get him back in bed with you.”

“ _Oh hell_.” He said, knowing she was right.

“When he gets back, you’ll have to come clean about invading his quarters, so take advantage of that. He’ll know it was you anyway. Tell him what you found, then ask him if the two of you can watch it together.” She let go of his jaw.

Kirk was lost, again. “If all he wants is slow and boring, I suppose I can give that to him.”

“Nope, I don’t want to hear that from you. With a partner like Spock, there’s nothing boring about it.” She beamed at the thought of her past fun with her musician friend. “Touch telepathy and sex, Jimmy, I’ve never experienced anything like it. Part of why you want to go slow is so you don’t shoot your wad after getting in a couple of pumps because his added insight into what you’re thinking and feeling gives him an idea of how to make a regular old bedroom romp into something that will blow your tiny human mind.”

“Hmmm.” He got up to follow her to the bed. “Blow my tiny human mind?”

“Yep, but from me, you’ll just have to settle for a blow.”

  
  
  
McCoy checked the list in his head against the supplies in his medkit. For the people already on the ground on Pezig’s Gate, he needed to make certain he had enough materials for multiple Vulcan casualties. Hillyard would be his easiest patient since she was a typical human, at least in a physiological and anatomical sense. The four Vulcans would be a pain in the ass, but he’d handle them. It was Mollie who was going to be the make it or break it of the bunch.

Livia Ah’delevna-MacCormack had given the CMO a quick run-down of her daughter’s general condition. Mollie was genetically human, of that, there was no doubt. What made things dicey was that she was conceived, gestated, and spent fifteen of the first twenty years of her life on Vulcan. Her body was adapted to that savage desert world, not the mild conditions most human populations preferred.

The list of don’t use compound M to treat condition Y warnings was extensive. They’d not had time to go into why a typed and crossed blood transfusion was deadly, why a hematocrit was a useless test, why a push of ferrous sulfite for what looked like anemia was a bad idea, or why increased bioavailability of certain trace elements and minerals in a typical human diet would irrevocably damage Mollie’s kidneys. He prayed that she didn’t need treatment for anything more than a skinned knee.

He opened a drawer and found an extra tube of antibiotic ointment. In the process of filing it away in the correct spot in his bag, he heard someone come into the sick bay. Assuming he was turning around to find a crewman with a hangnail, Captain T’Lal Ah’delevna was on approach.

“Evenin’ Captain.” He liked that she was well-versed enough in human speech that she wouldn’t ask him to explain any of his country boy slang.

“A pleasant evening to you as well, Dr. McCoy.” She had her hair down, covering her ears, so in context with her cotton t-shirt and blue jeans, she might be mistaken for human.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. MacCormack?” He closed the drawer and turned to face her.

“That would depend on your definition of what is right.” She stopped at a respectful distance.

“Okay, you got me there.” Seeing as she was Vulcan and he didn’t know her well enough to read her body language, he had to assume that the only reason she’d be seeking him out after midnight was if the topic was of life and death importance.

“I need to speak to you about three of the medications that Lt. Commander Sha’leyen took to Pezig’s Gate.”


	127. Chapter 127

McCoy got a gross feeling in his viscera. “You’re sure that these Golic assholes don’t have antidotes and treatments hidden somewhere in their closet full of evil shit leftover from four millennia ago?”

“With ketro’nitsin, there was no need for an antidote so it was never invented.” She watched him squirm for a few seconds. “You look as if you find it hard to believe my ancestors were capable of creating such substances.”

Yeah, he did think that. How could those murderous, remorseless creatures from thousands of years ago be the same people who, while stodgy to the extreme, were generally kind and very peaceful? His mind rattled off another question. “What do you mean your ancestors? You’re Lyr Saan.”

“I am also a direct descendant of the dominators who created them. This is a place where a lot of the far-flung progeny of formerly enslaved races find themselves. The masters and chattel both live inside me, a reality I am deliberate in remembering. Claiming one side and subverting the other is an internalized bias that actively affects perception. That slant is rarely to anyone’s advantage.”

He decided to sneak something in that had nothing to do with the pharmacology of genocide. “I see where you’re coming from, Captain. What does that mean for someone like Spock?”

She considered her answer. “It means he chooses survival.”

That was not what McCoy thought he’d hear. Something about Sarek, certainly, but what did survival mean in this context?

“The hybrid’s dilemma is similar to my own, but he has different obstacles and dynamics that complicate his life as a result.”

“Okay.” He didn’t know if he was following yet.

“You have heard the story of how my parents’ marriage imploding caused a divide between clans?”

“Jim gave me the sordid details that he knew. I can’t fathom what could drive a father to do that to his own child.” McCoy tried to think of the most desperate circumstances that could possibly lead to his committing filicide and couldn’t create a reason.

“When a person such as T’Pau is dictating clan policy and legally removes part of the family, the part capable of offering the most support to someone of Spock’s persuasion, he was left, to borrow a human phrase, high and dry.”

“I can see that.”

“Survival meant conforming to T’Pau’s wishes regardless of how many detractors he had. He’d seen what became of those banished or otherwise cast out of the fold. The Ah’delvnas and MacCormacks, we did all we could for Spock, but our influence was limited in a lot of ways. Had our support been any more overt, it would have caused further alienation for him.”

“But if you would have been better for him, why wouldn’t his family want that?” Again, McCoy was tangled in his take on fatherhood and what he’d have done for his child. “Why wouldn’t Sarek—”

“The Ambassador is not the villain you would have him be. He was not the best father, but he was certainly better than mine.” The way she stared McCoy down, he kept his mouth shut until he knew she was done talking and open to any form of comment. “He did what he could to give Spock as much exposure to us as possible. That was a way for him to provide certain elements his child needed. Sarek’s involvement with me, with the MacCormacks, goes far beyond a friendship struck up amongst a group of adults.”

“Is that why he’s set things up so Spock is marrying Mollie?”

“You may hunt for an answer to bring back to your captain, but I will not offer any commentary on the subject. I have no involvement in that process.”

Hand up in surrender, McCoy said, “I get it.”

“I do not believe you do, Doctor.”

What could he say to that? No, he didn’t understand any of the bullshit trotted out for the creation of Vulcan marriages. He thought those processes created more harm than good. “Doesn’t seem like it works all that well. You, Spock, his dad, none of you are with the person you were promised to when you were kids.”

“Each case is unique. My bond was severed both so my father could not hunt me down through the link and so the man I was supposed to marry was not harmed or killed because of his association with me. T’Pau chose very poorly for Spock, placing reputation and family before the health of a child. I cannot discuss Sarek’s first wife other than to say that she looked like a good political pick. She was not.”

“One more thing before you head off to bed.” He kept her attention when it looked like she was ready to leave.

“Yes?”

“Why are Jim, Buffalo Bill, and I supposed to pin Joe to the floor in the morning? Sohja’s saying he’ll need to be restrained. What’s that about?”

Not interested in entertaining any more of his questions, she walked away without so much as a good night. “Ugh, _Vulcans_.”

  
  
  
Tralnor woke to Sha’leyen giving him a shake. His response was to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t need to go that far. He felt it, but there was no wrong involved.

( _What is that_?) She wanted to know what had so completely overwhelmed her that she’d come out of a deep sleep.

 _What’s what_? He wondered. His brain, far more involved in lapping up the positive energy in the shuttle didn’t allow for the cognition of such a question.

Her jaw fell open and she let out a short sigh. When her eyes uncrossed, she clutched Tralnor’s hands. ( _What is that_?)

That she didn’t know was a reflection of how badly she was abused as a young woman. He let his shielding down some and took her into that place in his mind, where the two of them could sample the intense glow. (It’s the feeling of someone who’s building up to his very first prostate orgasm.)

(Is this how—) A deep intake of air followed by a measured exhalation, she continued, (Is this how sex is supposed to feel?)

He didn’t respond right away and having blocked out as much of the excitement going on in the other side of the shuttle as he could, he didn’t have the same distraction she did. By asking that question, she left him with a patent sense of loss on her behalf. She’d never experienced real sexual pleasure, firsthand or feeding back from her husband or the goons he’d passed her around to. Tralnor touched back into the intense warmth flooding in from Spock, giving it a glancing blow before walling his mind off again. (If it doesn’t feel like this, it should be something similar.)

Blinking heavily, a sense of wonderment spread within her. (I never knew it this way.)

He let go of her hands and collected her in his arms.

(One day, that will be you and me.) She placed her cheek against his and together they mentally stepped away from the world and went to a place all their own.

  
  
  
He’d decided that if they were dying the next day, he wanted to try something. Mollie promised there would be no pain and she was right, her dedication to helping him relax, her gentle touch, the slow coaxing of his body as to allow for two of her fingers inside him, she made it so he could cast his fear away and succumb to what she called well-earned euphoria.

Tralnor had said that it was a rush to be touched in such a way. At the time, it was evident that the younger man hadn’t the proper vocabulary to give an adequate description of how such physical manipulation left the receiver. This was a glimpse of a future delight should Spock encounter a partner he trusted enough to retain the control needed to penetrate him without unleashing the slumbering dragon of Refraction Syndrome.

(My turn.) Mollie said, straddling him. He let his still completely engorged penis throb against her promising warmth. Subtle adjustments in their positioning and their bodies existed within and around one another as if it was something that had always been.

  
  
  
The lads had pulled together a gift for Sarah and the Krampus, after securing permission from two of the three captains on board, and alerting security of what the love birds were doing so no one got lost in the shuffle come morning. They’d packed their duffles for a few days aboard the Dragon and took along a few extras for this little getaway. “You look really nervous, Seltun.”

She knew she was stating the obvious. He remained quiet as they walked up the hallway until they came to a door marked 3752. Code entered, she opened the portal to a tastefully decorated guest stateroom. Newly refurbished after the broken water pipe incident, everything in the cabin was brand new. No one had even walked barefoot on the carpet.

“Remember, we don’t have to do anything.” She set her bag on a built-in table. “Our only objective is to enjoy some private time with one another.”

“I do not want to disappoint you, Sarah.”

“If you’re not ready, Seltun, you’re not ready. It wouldn’t be right to talk you into something you’re not comfortable with yet.” She didn’t sit on the bed so much as she spun herself into a reclining position. “Enjoying private time doesn’t have to mean sex.”

“The way my cabin-mates were acting made it seem as though that was the only thing you and I would be doing tonight.” His bag off his shoulder, he sat across from her in the chair that was provided for the immobile table.

“They would think that way because they’re only thinking with one part of their anatomy and it’s sure as hell isn’t their brains.”

“I have put much consideration into the. . . physical intimacy that will come with this relationship. I need more time, not because I do not want that with you, but because I want us to have reached a state of higher mental congregation first. I apologize if this was not—”

“Dr. Tralnor warned me that would be the case, and before you say anything, I’m not frustrated or disappointed with you.” She let him have a soft smile. “I’m ready when you are.”

  
  
  
Laura accepted the box from Veddah and looked it over. He didn’t believe it was the one they were looking for but asked that she assess it before it was written off completely. Smooth, light green stone, it was of simple design and had an elegance to it that indicated it might have belonged to someone who’d liked understated artistry.

Open, she tapped at the floor and sides, trying to discover a secret compartment and came across nothing more than the empty box. “I’m not finding any hidden seams or pulls, nothing. I suppose we should just add it to our collection. Maybe I can find more diamonds to put in it?”

Her joke bombed and that was perfectly fine by her. She placed the box beneath her camp chair so it was not in the way. “Thank you, Veddah.”

She took the coffee he had in hand and inhaled the steam coming off the hot liquid. It wasn’t going to work, but there was an optimistic streak in her mind that said the moist heat would break up the crud she felt jangling in her right lung. He joined her for coffee where she witnessed how ragged he’d become. Someone so young shouldn’t appear so exhausted or worried.

“You wouldn’t know how to determine if this thing in my chest is a blood clot, do you?” It was no secret that she was on death’s door. She’d accepted that days ago and knew not to fear the Boatman when he came to ferry her across the river to her place in hell. If given the choice of continuing to fade away or dropping from a pulmonary embolism, for Veddah’s sake, she wanted to be around for as long as possible.

He dropped his chin. “I do not want you to die.”

She placed a hand on his knee. “I know. . .”

“You are within your right to be angry at me for this.” He blanketed her fingers with his palm. “I contacted Dr. Hoskins last night. He said that your symptoms either fit too many diagnostic criteria or not enough, that he has no chance of making even an educated guess as to your affliction. He is seeking more information on you.”

“I’m not mad at you, Veddah.”

“He is dispatching another package of medical supplies later this morning, including a tricorder-like device that he thinks will help him at least treat your symptoms if not lead him to the name of your illness.” He gripped her and let her see his face. The constant onslaught of stress was leaving him gaunt, something a man of his build couldn’t carry well. “He wanted me to ask if you—”

Why was he hesitating? “Hoskins is such an insane circus-freak of a man that you don’t need to repeat something that he only said to make you uncomfortable. That’s his shitty sense of humor for you.”

“This was a legitimate health question.”

Confused, she didn’t know what the criminal veterinarian could possibly want to know.

“He needs to know that you are absolutely certain that you are not pregnant.”

“ _What the fuck does that mean_? He knows it's not possible.” She let the quaking anger/shock pass so she could string words together. “That’s probably the most horrible thing he’s ever said about me and that man can talk some shit.”

“He was serious in his query. It was not a joke, not an insult, not a jab at you. As I said, it was a legitimate health question.” A long blink and equally as drawn-out inhale and exhalation. “When I informed him that you had been bleeding for two days, he modified his request. Do you know if this was a genuine menstrual period or an early pregnancy loss? He said such losses can be visually indistinguishable from a normal cycle.”

“I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking, but he’s barking up the wrong fucking tree.” Her jaw trembled so she ground her teeth before snarling, “I’m not pregnant, never have been, never will be.”


	128. Chapter 128

“Good morning, gorgeous.” Hoskins loomed at the foot of the bed.

Silvio woke with a snort and was not liking the doctor’s adoring gaze. “Help you?”

“Let me give you a once-over and see if I’m discharging you now or this afternoon.” From the pockets of the lab coat he always wore, Hoskins produced two bottled meal replacement shakes, a pre-fab cup of tapioca pudding, and a spoon. “Dig in and I’ll be back.”

Gingerly, Silvio tested his ability to sit up. His ass was certainly tender, but nothing compared to the torn, hollow feeling from last night. So, he’d survived, and yes, was grateful that Doc had gone easy on him.

Curtains whipped back, the vet had returned with a scanner and started on his thing. Wounded hand examined and declared nearly mended, thanks to the miracle of tissue-regenerating properties in dermaplast, Silvio could take the butterfly bandages off tomorrow.

“Thank you for last night, Mr. Mazzi.”

Cold wake fluttered down Silvio’s spine. What was the proper or any response to something like that? Doc’s eyes raked over him, suggesting that this might become a long-term affair. Scanner done flashing and making noise, all he could hear was Sweetness’ environmental systems and Hoskins’ breathing.

Diagnostic device set aside, a soft smile on Hoskins’ face, he cupped Silvio’s cheek and planted a kiss. Then a whisper, “ _We’ll always have sick bay_.”

  
  
  
She raged at the screen, swearing and railing at Hoskins for being such an inconsiderate prick. “—Fuck you! Fuck you, you moldering shit-stain!”

“Laura this isn’t—” Hoskins’ leaned back from the camera as though she was right across a table in the same room.

“How could you—”

Hoskins, head swimming from his captain’s verbal castigation, looked past Laura and registered an expression with Veddah. The doctor needed her to calm down so he could explain why he was asking these questions. Veddah entered the scene and touched her in an intimate fashion that did not hide his relationship with her. Capturing a shard of her attention, he could draw her to him, wrap his arms around her, and place her tear-slicked cheek against his chest.

(Veddah!) Fear that Hoskins could use this visual against her brought her vocal tirade to an abrupt end. ( _What are you doing_!)

“Captain, I need you to hear me out.” The former veterinarian cleared his throat.

(Deep, even breaths, Adun’a.) He pushed as much support and affection across the bond as he was able. “Doctor?”

“I can’t be sure until I have more information from you, like the medscan data from later today, but this might, and I mean might, be a case of non-specific autoimmune dysfunction as induced by pregnancy.” He held up a finger to try and pre-empt further lashing out on her behalf. “I could be talking out of my ass, I don’t know yet.”

“ _It’s not true_. . .” Her weak tone might have gone unheard on Sweetness’ end.

“It’s a shot in the fucking dark, but it’s one of the few things I’ve got left. Please answer me and be truthful. Are you pregnant?”

She hiccuped and wadded up a handful of Veddah’s shirt, squeezing it like she was trying to make her pain go away. “No.”

“Are you having a miscarriage?”

“No.”

“Are you experiencing anything that you can identify as relating to the fluctuating hormones of your cycle, any patterns?” Where this man usually got a twisted charge out of other people’s misery, he clearly was not enjoying this.

“No.” Laura let go of enough of her tension to mold herself against Veddah. “I can’t think of anything reproductive that’s tied in with my symptoms.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.” Hoskins saw that Laura was down but not out of the fight yet. “The autoimmune angle makes sense for the fevers, exhaustion, hair loss, the patterning of the rashes on your skin—”

That got her attention. Laura reared her head up a few degrees. “Rashes? What rashes?”

“The ones loverboy’s been seeing as of late.” The doctor’s neck stretched up so he could see over his terminal. When he was sure he’d not be interrupted, he peered back into his machine.

She tried to scour her memories for any inkling that she’d suffered from skin problems. “ _What rashes_?”

“He’s described them to me, and he’d be the one know what they looked like and where they are.”

“I’m not in the mood for any of your shitty humor right now, Doc.” She was partially recovered from the earlier shouting.

“And I’m not being funny. I don’t give a shit that you’re a lot too friendly with a prisoner. I don’t give a shit that you fuck him every chance you get. I don’t give a shit that he’s got green swill instead of blood coursing through his veins. I’m trying my absolute fucking best to get this figured out before you unceremoniously drop dead. If I can eliminate a pregnancy-related illness or cluster of illnesses, I can start looking for a new herd of zebras to scour.” Again, he peered up and over his computer. “I know of your previous issues conceiving. I know that there’s no way Tasty Snatch here could have knocked you up—”

“You don’t think Silvio—Oh, no. That’s not even a remote possibility.”

“It’s one I had to rule out. Go back to bed and wait for the supplies I’m sending down.” Hoskins tried to set his shoulders square like he was confident in his guess about Laura’s illness. The practitioner couldn’t hide his doubt. “Call if her condition changes.”

“I will.” Veddah felt Laura’s muscles relax as she soughed off tension and anger. When the screen went blank, he took her back over to her chair where he wrapped her in a blanket and added more wood to the fire.

After the energy expenditure of her confrontation with Hoskins, she mentally checked out and went somewhere about as pleasant as repeatedly getting your hand slammed in a door.

  
  
  
“ _Move, damnit_!”

A bright Los Angeles day not long after she’d turned five, Laura was dragged along by Tatyana, no allowance for the child’s much shorter stride. The irate geneticist wanted to shoot quickly through the crowds at the outdoor shopping center near the Farmer’s Market and resented the intrusion by her daughter.

“Come on.” Another rough tug and the girl stumbled. “What the hell is wrong with you? One foot in front of the other. It’s not hard.”

Laura picked herself up from the concrete and started to sweep the debris from her clothes. “We’re going too fast.”

“Keep up or stay behind and find your own way home.” Tatyana wasn’t fooling around. She had no compunction deserting Laura. “If that son-of-a-bitch hadn’t pulled a Houdini on me, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Tatyana was mad at Daddy. He’d gone to Palm Springs with some friends on a Guys’ Weekend. Laura’s one buffer against her mother’s phosphorescent anger was out of town for the next three days. “I am late for lunch because of you.”

To match her mother’s locomotion, the little girl had to run to stay alongside. Every Friday, Tatyana and her friends met for a meal and shopping as a way to unwind from their week. This was the first time Laura would make an appearance. Entering the restaurant, the hostess greeted them with a smile as Tatyana waved to her already seated posse.

“What is that?” Tatyana’s eyes narrowed.

“Um, the children’s menu.” Crayons and a coloring page, the hostess held them up for the mother’s inspection.

“No, that is not needed.” Tatyana said. “My party is here. I am joining them.”

Four other women greeted Tatyana, then tried to think of what to make of Laura. One, an olive-skinned beauty, asked, “Oh, is this a niece we don’t know about?”

An extra chair wedged in around the table, Laura sat and made sure to keep her mouth shut. A direct question from a lady who looked like a sweatsuit stuffed with marshmallow cream put the girl on edge. Would Tatyana be more upset if her friend was ignored or if the girl dared to answer?

“How do you like spending time with your Auntie and Uncle here in LA? It must be so different from what you’re used to in Russia.”

Knowing that ultimately, no matter her path of action, she’d spend the ride back to Westwood, Tatyana berating her, Laura decided to answer. “Tatyana is my mother.”

Mouths dropped, shock rumbled the audience. Olive Beauty gathered her composure first. “She’s just gorgeous. I didn’t know you and Alfie were trying to adopt.”

“What’s your name, Sweetie?” A third woman, blonde, her face pulled tight, had a hard time blinking. “Sophia is right. You’re very pretty.”

No warning, just a vicious jerk, and Laura was hauled off to the car. Tatyana was eerily quiet until they were both in and the doors shut. “ _You are the single worst thing that has ever happened to me_!”

Daddy always said Tatyana didn’t mean it when she said things like that. She was overworked and frustrated. Supposedly, all mothers loved their children. Laura knew that was not true. Smart enough to understand she was an unwanted and burdensome creature that Tatyana would just as soon trade-in for a piece of furniture than interact with, Laura didn’t entertain grandiose fantasies of mother-daughter fairy tea or bedtime stories.

“One day, you will be in my place. A screaming brat and a sniveling husband monopolizing all your time, and they will do all they can to gut you and defeat you. _There is a look at your happy fucking future_.” Tatyana laid on the horn and screamed for an elderly couple to get their wrinkly old asses out of the way so she could get home.

Tatyana took off within seconds of dumping her daughter at the house. That night, Laura spent entirely alone, unsupervised, where she started learning the basics of fending for herself. She remained alone until Tatyana reappeared almost forty-eight hours later, right before Daddy pulled in from his trip. That’s when the fighting began over who he really spent the weekend with and Laura went up and hid in her room, falling asleep long before the voices went down.

  
  
  
Officer’s mess, first thing in the morning, was a typically subdued place. Today, the universe was going to hell in a proverbial handbasket, so the dining hall was something straight out of a slapstick comedy. A fountain of liquid erupted from the overflowing coffee dispenser, two clueless, barely out of their teens crewmen trying to figure out why it had malfunctioned, the distinct odor of scorched eggs, and someone bitching that the only bread available for toast was pumpernickel rye. Kirk got all of that not having made it half a meter through the door.

Passed up by T’Lal, Jim watched as the black-fatigue clad intelligence operative moved the humans from in front of the hydrant-like coffee machine, popped some little panel, and yanked a relay circuit. Hot liquid finally quit spewing all over the floor. She followed the kitchen staff off to a blind where she gathered towels as to help with the cleanup. Then they kept arguing with her about how she was an officer and officers didn’t do scut work like that. “I am a freighter pilot. I do all the jobs aboard a ship. There is no task that is beneath me, regardless of the rank I hold.”

A crash sounded from the kitchen. Kirk had to tell himself that disastrous dress-rehearsals made for near-flawless opening nights. A bit of clusterfuckededness in the AM wasn’t going to fluster him. Eggs avoided. Toast not an option under Nanny McCoy’s iron fist, he had the choice of fruit and cottage cheese or fruit and cottage cheese. Maybe he could smear some strawberry jam on a napkin and call it low-carb?

“That woman scares the bejesus out of me, Jim.” McCoy gnawed on his picante-sauced chewy eggs.

Kirk set his stuff down and was about to get in line for the working coffee machine. “Which one?”

“The one who just walked through the door.” He gazed after Sohja. “She leaves me harder than Chinese algebra and could probably pulverize me with a single slap upside my boggled head.”

Also wearing a form-fitted outfit of head-to-toe black, Sohja lacked her usual pizzaz. Billie was right by using the word terrified to describe the younger Vulcan woman. “Who knows, you might like it.”

“Go get your coffee before this other urn explodes and everybody gets pissy.”

“That’s nothing you’ve got to tell me twice.”

Mop-up nearly completed, T’Lal left the crewmen to put the final polish on things. Kirk expected that she’d grab a cup and slug down some coffee as he’d seen her do on other mornings. She bypassed the beverage station and put her ear to the bulkhead behind and to the side of the decommissioned dispenser. Jim was passing her behavior off as just another oddity, something to be ignored because, well, Vulcans, when a familiar flash went through her face. When Spock did that it only meant trouble on the horizon.

The pilot went to the wall comm and patched through to the bridge and main engineering. “Captain T’Lal, officer’s mess, direct order: take the warp engines offline. I repeat, take the warp engines offline. STAT.”

Kirk’s ears picked up Scotty’s distinctive brogue. “ _Yes, Sir, I’ve got Mr. Q’Pik right here and we’re starting on the drawdown sequence_.”

She looked at Kirk, concern evident. “It appears that the Enterprise has an issue with what may turn out to be scores of relay circuits. In my estimate, there are approximately nineteen within the dining hall and in close proximity to my current location.”

“ _Sir_?” The engineer’s voice went weak. “ _Nineteen_?”

“My interpretation, based on what I can hear from where I am standing, these circuits have not been placed in vital systems, but it is better to take precautions and assume all areas of the ship may be affected.”

Something in Scotty’s background sounded like the Hoblian confirming the power-down was successful. “ _Did you get that, Captain T’Lal_?”

“I did. Kirk, Cody, and I will be with you shortly.” T’Lal signed off and waited for Jim to get close enough she didn’t have to speak too loud.

“Is this a cascade failure, a bad batch of individual components, some idiot put things in upside down?” He didn’t know what to think.

She pulled the rotten piece she’d yanked from the coffee machine and held it up where he could get a decent look. A rug yanked from under his feet followed by a boot to the ass over the lip of the Grand Canyon, that’s what Kirk felt when he registered what he saw.

“This specific circuit is not military grade. It is a factory second or a counterfeit civilian after-market item. The others placed throughout the ship, before we get a chance to examine them and learn their origins, I cannot offer an explanation as to where they came from or why they were installed.”

“That’s just lovely.” _Where did these damned things come from_?

“The one I am holding is not approved for use on starships at all.” T’Lal started walking and Kirk kept in step. “However, that does not keep other aftermarket parts from being useful in emergency situations if they are all you can acquire. Of the hundreds of others installed throughout the Enterprise, I can tell you that these were made by multiple manufacturers with unknown estimation of their veracity.”

“Tell me about the solder.” Kirk said.

She scratched a thumbnail over it and said, “Cheap and riddled with impurities. Low-end civilian market.”

An animatic of memories surrounding the dead man’s fingerprints in Spock’s server block flew through Kirk’s mind. “It’s that fucking Kevin Radovitch.”


	129. Chapter 129

Tralnor explained to Spock how he wanted to differentiate the wyantium impregnated sections of the clothing store from the ones made of normal building materials. It was a sound idea that would give verifiable results. Slabs would fluoresce or not. The science officer was on board.

“Do we need to take anything else with us or is Sha’leyen’s ALS torch everything?”

Spock thought for a second, “Other than the usual tools and supplies we have been bringing along on our excursions into the dead city, there is nothing I can suggest.”

“I really think this is it, this is the answer.” Tralnor held the battery-operated light.

(Tralnor, I need to thank you.)

The music teacher zipped the light into the pocket on his jacket. (I don’t know why you would.)

(It is indeed, a rush, as you so inadequately put it.) Spock didn’t have to give any details, such was life with a hyper-empath sometimes. (Thank you for preparing me and putting up with my questions.)

(You’re sounding like you’ve placed an undue burden on me, Spock. That’s not how I operate and you know it. Therefore, I say per usual that you’re welcome to call on me any time.) This was a variation on a theme, a conversation they’d had dozens of times over the years. Tralnor never made it so Spock felt indebted.

“Did you write your letter?” Tralnor pointed to the portfolio, the very same that had conveyed the piece of paper that set this entire hunt in motion. Should one or none of them make it back from Pezig’s Gate, instructions and good-byes were in a place where they could not be missed by anyone going through the camp.

“As of yet, I have not.”

Tralnor got the notepad and pen, handing it over. “I leave you to it.”

  
  
  
Veddah hadn’t wanted to broach the subject but thought he was entitled to some explanation as to why Laura, who claimed she kept no secrets from him, had not told him that she’d shut off the kill setting on his slave implant. He had to ask her and stopped checking the packs they were taking into the storage vault if they got that far.

“You know how earlier I said that you had to be convincing?” She thanked him for the top-off on her coffee.

“I understand that you did not think I have the acting abilities to convince people that I was in mortal danger. I do not know that any Vulcan who is properly trained in the Surakian disciplines could tell such a convincing lie.” He wasn’t angry with her for this withholding of details, just mystified.

“It’s not a condemnation of you, Veddah. It’s more a response to your moral integrity.”

When she’d told him that his parents had raised him to be a good man, he’d found the comment strange. He’d been unable to fathom why any parents would not want to put the proper care and attention into creating the next generation. That said, the more he learned about Laura’s familial background, he knew he was fortunate to have experienced his youth rather than hers.

“To direct and mine your emotional state to keep you where I needed you, I had to think the Sentinel was fully-functional too.”

“ _You convinced yourself of a lie_?”

She shook with unproductive coughing to the point she filled her lap with coffee. “No, I used a mind-control technique, ip-shaula yeht’es, to hide that information from both of us. I had to be just as convincing as you were.”

“I have not heard of this particular mental discipline.”

“It’s a non-psionic method that’s rarely taught to anyone outside of the intelligence community. Self-hidden truth. It takes information and data that you want to save for later and hides it from your conscious thought until the date and time you set the block to expire. When that happens, everything comes back. In our case, the ip-shaula yeht’es lifted in the middle of last night and that’s when I told you.” Another rib-popping cough and she spilled her drink, drowning her lap and shoes. “No amount of interrogation can break that hidden info loose. It’s something like a yemtra vokaya that’s been put in a time-locked safe, only without the telepathic movement of a bolus from one person to another.”

He was helping her into dry clothes, letting his consciousness mull over what she’d elaborated on. “How did you learn the ip-shaula yeht’es?”

“I’ve always been a voracious reader and seeker of knowledge. When I was a child, I spent nearly every waking moment I could spare devouring whatever interested me at the VSA libraries. I stumbled into some topics and texts that I probably shouldn’t have, but oh well. One thing I did focus on was Vulcan psionics and neurology since at the time I thought I’d been excluded from the schools _on the basis that I was a psi-null_.”

“From books? You taught this and other practices to yourself?” He knew from prolonged exposure to her mind and its fastidious organization she’d done remarkably well for not working with a Master. “Adun’a, you asked how it was that you had not succumbed to psychosis, as is the fate of most entirely untrained human psions?”

She well aware. “And its still a mystery to me that I’m not living under a bus bench in Santa Monica.”

“Your supposition is not correct.” He got her trousers up and over her now less than voluptuous rear end. She’d lost so much weight that she’d been cinching her waistbands with strips of fabric torn from a scrub rag they used on the dishes.

“Should I be relieved?” She resumed her perch in her chair.

“While you do not have any training on the use of your psi abilities, your study and practice of topics like meditation, cognitive pattern recognition, segregation of destructive thoughts, and the finely tuned organization of your mind granted you the subconscious resolve and structure a psion needs to remain sane.” He went about replacing the coffee she’d dumped. “You inadvertently saved yourself.”

“Looks like being an obstinate bookworm is a good thing sometimes.”

  
  
  
Billie joined up with Kirk and T’Lal and all three bounded into main engineering. Billie’s hair was wet and still sudsy in a few spots. Jim knew that feeling of rushing off into a fight or some flavor of emergency, no fucks given for his own condition, only the lives of his crew and the health of his ship on his mind.

T’Lal set the burnt-out relay circuit on a console where the chief engineers could take turns looking it over. Billie leaned in then turned to Kirk, “Someone set out to steal all the copper plumbing and wires to sell for coke money?”

“You have no idea just how close to the truth you are with that comment.” Kirk wished this was something that a strain of humor might emerge from, but this wasn’t a case of ship’s stores receiving something that had slipped through the cracks in the supply chain. These relays were purposely swapped out with inferior replicas.

Billie’s face slackened. “ _Oh, shit_.”

“It would be marginally funny, maybe, if this wasn’t directly tied to the Corpse-fucker.” He didn’t bother to monitor his language. Radovitch was no longer a member of his crew and he didn’t have to guess that most of those aboard Enterprise felt the same as he and Billie did.

Q’pik’s head whipped toward the captains. Apparently, he’d not heard the legend of the necrophilic ensign. Kirk gave a concise retelling and left out the disgusting details he’d learned about Radovitch since the aborted trial.

“I have to say, Sirs, this isn’t just cheap and poorly made.” Scotty held the component and tried to look for something on it, probably a makers mark of some sort. “Captain T’Lal’s thought that it was cheaper than dirt is right on. This is black market, completely unregulated.”

“How does someone like Radovitch get these on board while also smuggling out the real circuit relays?” Kirk needed to know. “Is it at all possible that he did it on his own?”

“That, Captain Kirk, I will have to investigate.” Scotty’s jaw tensed and the sides of his head bulged where those muscles attached to the skull. “If he had help, which I’m sure he did, it’s one or possibly more of my guys who did it.”

“How quickly can you two tell us how lousy Enterprise is with these and how quickly can you get them swapped out?” Kirk was honestly starting to feel sick to his stomach about this. “How did we miss this?”

“None of them had malfunctioned before the one in the coffee machine today.” T’Lal said. “As for the sound they’ve been making, human ears are incapable of picking that up, and the only reason I noticed it and knew what it was is based on my experience in the shipping lanes. Counterfeit parts are commonplace in that industry as there is nowhere near the oversight as is found in Starfleet. At times, there is no other option than to risk it and finish out a run on knockoff parts because that is all that is available.”

“What’s this about a sound, TJ?” Billie scratched at a soapy spot on her scalp.

“I did not make mention of the sound because it is so prevalent throughout the entire ship.”

“Well, if some strange high-pitched noise is proof that our boat is full of rotten relays, _why the hell didn’t you say something_?” Kirk was getting pissed. He was so fucking sick to death of Vulcans hiding shit from him.

“The sound alone is not the only indication of shady components. There are legitimate manufacturers of relay circuits for the civilian market whose products give off the same sound, just as there are certain select civilian companies that have been approved to provide minor parts to be used in non-essential systems aboard Starfleet ships.” T’Lal wasn’t dressing him down or being argumentative like he might expect a human to be.

Trying not to get defensive, Jim thought about the situation. This woman flew fighters and freighters and didn’t have the hours on the helms, or in the hulls, of Starfleet’s heavy cruisers to know that Constitution-Class starships were never granted leeway to employ any of the “approved-for-common-use” bits and bobs that T’Lal described. “Well, now that we know what’s going on, what are we going to do about it?”

“It’s going to start by checking our supplies to see if we’ve got anything to swap this bunk out with.” Scotty used a tool to test the relay. “I’ll get some of my guys on sniffing out all these poisoned truffles.”

“Is this serious enough that we need to evacuate the Enterprise?” Kirk wanted to cross his eyes. “We can get the casino busses out here and send our personnel to Pezig’s Gate for the duration until we replace the garbage we’ve been left with.”

“So long as it’s only coffee urns on the fritz—Wait a minute, Sir.” The scent of metallic combustion took to the air and Mr. Scott lifted the tip of the diagnostic device before it set fire to the bad circuit. “That water line that burst and took an entire compartment on three separate decks out of commission three-and-a-half, four months ago?”

“I vaguely remember something about that.” And vague was the best description. There was a mention on the morning blotter right after it happened, then a work order authorization for the demo and reconstruction in those sections.

“My enlisted lads, they came across a burnt-out relay not all that different from this one. It had caused the unregulated overload on the plumbing through those areas and left us with a mold problem we’ve just now solved. We thought it was a one-off, a single dud from a batch of relays. How short-sighted was I?”

“Unless there was a massive simultaneous failure of multiple units throughout the ship, neither you, nor your staff, would have had any reason or indication to examine the hundreds of thousands of individual relays on a vessel this size.” T’Lal said before Kirk could rattle off a similar comment.

Still boggled, Kirk had another question. “So, you can hear this, which presumably means Mr. Spock can hear it. Why didn’t he draw attention to it?”

“Jimmy, when and where was the last time you put in for major repairs?” Billie was following a line of thought that was more logic than guesswork.

“Sixteen weeks ago, Starbase 17.” He recalled the incident that lead up to Enterprise’s A and E visit. “We’d gotten sort-of fried by an electrical disturbance right outside the Behar System.”

“I had to borrow more than a few Starbase 17 lads to. . .” Scotty took a deep breath, pressed his lips together, and slowly let it out. “These junk relays were all put into place at the same time.”

“Therefore, the sound may have indicated to Commander Spock that you were working with a new supplier/manufacturer of approved components.” Q’pik’s ear flaps extended horizontally making it appear like he had sails sticking out of either side of his head.

“Well, Sirs, before we go anywhere or do anything, we need to take all of this counterfeit garbage out of use.” Scotty said.

“How long might this take?” Billie was spooked, understandable given what she’s so recently gone through with Wild West Show.

“If Captain Ah’delevna would be so kind as to furnish the frequency these relays put out, it will not take long to locate them.” Q’pik smacked the fleshy membranes into the sides of his head, rustled his earflaps, and sneered at the faulty unit.

“Give us thirty minutes, Sirs. We’ll tell you all we know.” Scotty was good on his word.

  
  
  
“Shouldn’t we have been gone by now?” Joe looked horrifically uncomfortable and out of place in his black ensemble.

“I do not know what the delay is, simply that we cannot leave without T’Lal.” Sohja thought this an ominous portent. Not one to indulge in such speculation, this mission was a rare exception to her steadfast resolve. Pure evil and mass devastation slumbered down on Pezig’s Gate.

Sarek was the coolest head at their table, insisting that they’d get any information pertinent to their situation. Their delay was strictly based on the dual nature of T’Lal’s duties. As the pilot for the experiment, four-hundred-plus lives were tied to her observations of the Enterprise and her performance.

“This is bad.” Joe glanced between the Vulcans. “I know I shouldn’t worry because fuck me, you’re not worried about the doom and gloom waiting for us on the road to Hades.”

Joe said that knowing Sohja’s reservations. He wanted to bolster her confidence without highlighting her emotional turbulence.

The ambassador, mouth taught in a grim line said, “Today, worry is entirely warranted, Mr. Bergman.”


	130. Chapter 130

Today, Silvio was Doc Hoskins’ gopher. Take care of one little chore for him and Sweetness’ former first officer was at liberty to go wherever the fuck he wanted. He’d never seriously considered giving up his transient lifestyle aboard the AVDL freighter, though it certainly had some appeal right then. What was he going to do, hang out his shingle and hop on with the next human supremacist crew that happened along to this isolated nowhere world? Sign on as a temp for a legitimate hauler? Stay here and teach life drawing classes to bored housewives?

The list Hoskins wanted fulfilled was item after item of medical crap that had to be collected in a crate and hand delivered out to Laura and the fuck doll. He recognized a few things, over the counter pain meds, electrolyte solution powders, anti-nausea drugs, tampons, but others were beyond his knowledge or desire to know. He’d go into a shop, buy a box of some drug or treatment he’d never heard of, and have to take the word of the sneaky clerks that he paid for what Doc wanted instead of rocks or wet noodles.

The final establishment he needed was more akin to an antique market than first-aid kit compatible. What the fuck was a manual test kit for human chorionic gonadotropin? The clerk spent an eternity going through her inventory computer, glancing from her screen to his list, to her screen.

“Oooooh, says here I’m supposed to have one or two of those in stock, It should be in the back room. If not, I’ll have to go into my cold storage and that will take a while, but I’ll get you what you’re looking for. Do you have a preference for sensitivity?”

“I don’t think so.” What was that twerp shop assistant asking about? He couldn’t fathom a guess and didn’t know what Hoskins was springing on Laura.

“How far along do you think she is?”

“ _Far along_?”

“I’ll see if I’ve got an early.” The clerk was pleased to have a final selection. “It will pick up changes before she misses her period. It’s a nice back-up confirmation to go with all of our fancy scanners and diagnostic tools these days.”

The gal had been gone for about five minutes when things started slotting together. Hoskins suspected the captain was pregnant! How the fuck had that happened? Knowing he had at least twenty more minutes of being locked out of the antique medical shop, Silvio placed a direct call to the Doc.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were losing your mind, Hoskins.” He gave a dry laugh. “But you and sanity parted ways long ago.”

“When was the last time you had sex with her?” Doc wasn’t entertaining any of Silvio’s banter. He’d shifted up to concerned physician gear and didn’t have room for idiotic speculation.

“You’re not going to pin this on me even if by some curse she’s turned up pregnant.” Silvio started a mental tally of the days and weeks since he’d last been in Laura’s bed. “She’s barren.”

“ _How long_?”

“Do you know how much time I’ve spent talking to her about this whole stupid kid thing? She doesn’t need a ball and chain like a goddamned baby. She’s meant for a higher calling.” He’d really hated it when she’d cry to him, posing all the reasons why she thought she needed a child. The only responsible thing to do was emphasize how fortunate she was to not have to contend with one of the most annoying parts of adulthood. Parenting was the worst.

“Time frame? Your best fucking guess.”

“Fuck you, none of your business.” That was the wrong thing to say to a guy like this. Gaze infiltrated by lust, he felt Hoskins undressing him with his eyes. Then he went and did the tongue thing, flicking about like a Komodo dragon.

“Now, Mr. Mazzi. _How long_?” Hoskins had snapped out of lounge lizard mode and morphed into someone who showed veracity in his concern about Laura.

“A while ago. Right about the time she made her porn debut with that devil-eared freak.” He’d wanted more than that, but she’d cut him off, cold, in an almost surgical fashion. Silvio was the amputated limb that was thrown into the incinerator after separation from the main body.

“Fuck it all.” Hoskins flung a stylus at his desk. “I was hoping she was misremembering.”

“Laura, misremember something? Doc, you and I both know that she has a memory like a black hole. Things go in and they never come out.”

“Well, shit.” Hoskins started typing something. “It’s time for me to hit up the textbooks and find that new zebra I was telling her about.”

“Huh?”

“Personal joke.”

“I hope it’s a vet thing and not a bestiality thing.” That drew a sour pucker from Hoskins that left Silvio wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Let me know when you make it to their camp.”

“I don’t know of a ‘they’ down dirtside, Doc. There’s our captain and she’s taken a bipedal dildo along for the ride, but ‘they’ makes it sound like more than one person is waiting for me.” Damnit, where the hell had that clerk gone? “Don’t tell me that you’ve gone soft for that freak alien pretty boy too.”

Not willing to waste more time entertaining the former first officer, Hoskins made a kissy-face at him and said. “Let me know.”

  
  
  
Decision made, Kirk contacted the bridge. “Lt. Uhura, get ahold of the Pezig’s C and C guy we talked to yesterday. Tell him to send out the party busses. Until we get this counterfeit hardware situation resolved, it’s not safe to be aboard the Enterprise unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’re evacuating all non-essential personnel as per the Fire Evacuation Protocols.”

“Yes, Sir. Will you or Captain Cody be informing the crew?”

“We’ve got that part handled.” He signed off and wished he’d taken the hospitality bureau up on their offer when it was initially proposed. The reality that he’d kept his crew, Billie’s crew, in such an extremely dangerous situation for a day longer than need be gnawed at him. Radovitch did not know how fortunate he was that Jim Kirk was days out from Starbase 21.

“Captain T’Lal, I know that you need to get going, but if we could keep you and your sensitive ears for another couple hours?” Billie was hopeful the Vulcan would say yes. “We’ll rustle up Lt. Seltun too. We need to get the both of you into the ship’s vital areas and listening for these fucking fake relays. I know the engineers have the right toys, but Jimmy and I would feel a hell of a lot better if we had your confirmation.”

“President Cullen will understand.” T’Lal had nodded in agreement while Billie was asking. “T’Pau will—She is T’Pau.”

“Say no more.” Kirk was glad to see that T’Lal had about as much use for the old battle-axe matriarch as he did.

“I will brief Sarek and Sohja, show them what we are listening for, and deploy them accordingly with a contingent of engineers.” T’Lal stated her plan, one that pushed the throttle on this insanity. “That way, neither of them is accessing classified areas. Seltun and I will cover those.”

“It will get you out of here faster.” Kirk didn’t say anything else until after she’d gone to round up her little friends. “Well, we’re running late now too. I’ll let you call Kuznetsov. I’ll get the evacuation rolling.”

“All of this because of a busted coffee maker. What a day.” She gave him a warm squeeze on the shoulder. “I’m off to talk to the Dragon.”

  
  
  
Sarah was dressed and Seltun still in the shower when the summons came. Concerned, she wondered if call time had changed and they were running late for the shuttle to USS Dragon. Two people from engineering, faces she recognized, names that escaped her, asked after her geologist boyfriend.

She promised to relay the request that he report to main engineering but for whatever reason, that wasn’t good enough. They were to act as his official escorts. Maybe they were worried that he’d try to sneak away on one of the party busses not realizing that Seltun was like her, part of the contingent shipping over to Dragon.

“Well, when you get down there, say hello to Lt. Avery for me.” Alton was not amongst those being whisked away to make his fortune on the casino floor.

“So, you’re the Sarah he’s talked about.” Crewman A said.

Did she go with the tired lines about all said of her being good? “That’s me.”

Crewman B perked up. “He’s taking bets right now on whether you and Lt. Seltun are going to get hitched at one of those gaudy gambling-hall chapels while we’re here.”

“Oh, Alton.” Laugh or cry, the guy did her in sometimes. “He stands a better chance at marrying a random cocktail waitress down there than Seltun and I. The two of us won’t be leaving Dragon until Enterprise is ready to pack up and leave for somewhere that an NX designation isn’t seen as a sign of the plague.”

The bathroom door shut a lot faster than it opened. Seltun had both neglected to grab a towel or account for the possibility of guests.

  
  
  
McCoy, grateful for the refuge of Rec Room 2 after a salmon-like upstream battle against throngs of disembarking crew members, thought he might have one last thing to fret about. “Excuse me, Joe?”

Bergman, left to his own entertainment after his colleagues dispatched to set their ears against practically every bulkhead in the ship, closed the paper book he’d been reading. “Dare I say good morning? If do, will the ceiling tiles fall in, and we get hit with a plague of space-leeches?”

“Considering some of the things I’ve seen out here, son, I wouldn’t follow through on that dare.” The doctor, having seen his staff off, didn’t feel like waiting alone in sick bay. “I’m fresh out of leech repellent.”

“I don’t know which one of us would have the bigger horror stories, you with all of your galavanting about the cosmos or me with my ground-level view of Hollywood.”

“You win.” McCoy did have some experience with monsters and shadows, but Joe, he lived in a universe galvanized by aloof make-believe, people who couldn’t connect to reality, and the human depravity those two conditions brewed.

“That’s decisive.”

Not concerned that they’d be overheard since the few stragglers drifting by out in the hall were focused on getting on the casino busses, McCoy didn’t feel like he had to censor his words. “What’s your prognosis for Spock and Jim?”

“Um. . .” A thoughtful sigh, he probably didn’t want to commit to a guess. “I don’t think I can be a very good judge of that. The Jim Kirk you and I know are two different people. If he stays the petty, mean bastard that I’ve met multiple times now, they’re screwed. If he’s like he was the night of your porno run and panty raid, I mean, ‘book search,’ that’s the start of maybe neutral things in the future. If he returns to being the man you knew until a few months ago, they might have a chance.”

“That’s what I’ve thought.” McCoy decided to claim the chair next to Tralnor’s desk. “What if they come out of this okay? Is there any way to get Sarek to butt the hell out?”

“I’d say that’s a big, fat _nyet_. Ambassador Scary Uncle is like one of those extinct bulldogs that used to have the locking jaws. Once that guy gets his teeth into something, he’s tenacious.”

“I don’t know why I’m pestering you. You’re giving me answers I already know.”

Joe shrugged. “Misery loves company?”

“He’s just going to have to deal with Mollie if he wants Spock. I hope for his own damned sake that Jim can keep scraping his shit together and I’m worried sick about nothing.” The lights flickered before browning out and kicking over to emergency systems. “I should be more concerned about the here and now.”

“What exactly is going on? T’Lal blew through here and left me all by my lonesome. No explanation.”

“This is the third or fourth verse of the Ballad of Ensign Corpse-fucker.”

“Nasty cretin. . . What kind of barrel does this little shit have us over?”

“The usual.” As McCoy said that, he corrected, “Well, it’s the usual for being out here. It might not be dangerous-dangerous, but it's tedious and guaranteed to take forever to sort and make us all crazy in the process.”

“Like the Film Archive Cypher?”

“You know what—Yeah.”

“May somebody’s gods help us.” Joe got into a drawer and deposited the book.

“If it weren’t still morning, I’d drink to that.”

  
  
  
Today, the clothing store would reveal its secrets. Days spent milling in and around it were done. The girls didn’t know what Tralnor had planned, just that he’d promised this was the last time he’d devote his time and energy to this particular structure.

“Remember when we were kids and we went on that camping trip in Yellowstone Park?” That would have been when Tralnor was seven and Spock aged nine.

“You are going to mention the collapse rather than the pleasant times had on that excursion.” Spock stayed close, physically, and mentally.

“I kept saying that I was getting a twisting sensation between my shoulder blades, but I couldn’t explain it through any rational means as applicable in this realm.” Tralnor gave serious consideration to grabbing Spock and running from the store.

“What is the collapse we face today? It is rare that you experience clairvoyance, but when you do, it is best to heed your revelations.”

While no one was killed, several people were hurt when the tourist-choked gift shop/soda fountain they’d stopped at for a bathroom break had part of the roof fall in. That had absolutely been the scariest part of their vacation and they’d had bears roaming through the campground the night before. “It’s not a rotten ceiling that’s going to come down around our heads. It all ends today. There are just a few hours before we find the tavalik duv-tor.”


	131. Chapter 131

Sparsely tended, the Enterprise felt hollow, emptied of the crew who embodied her soul. Kirk toured through the non-essential areas, the lounges, office clusters, mess halls, and rec rooms, counting all of the day-glow pink blots on decks and bulkheads. The Vulcans had excelled at their task, sounding out the inferior relays and marking the locations with something Mr. Scott had called a modern bingo dabber.

“How are we still alive to see this?” Jim said as his chief engineer joined him in the empty officer’s mess.

“We’re dealing with a careful thief, Sir. He probably didn’t want his own arse getting blown to kingdom come and made certain that when one of these chintzy bits went to pot that they left things like busted pipes and coffee geysers, not scrambling transporters and compromised environmentals.”

“Tell me again, Scotty, just to keep this captain’s head together, what kind of danger are we in if we’ve got to limp back to Starbase 21 like this?” It was strange to be in this space and not hear the general din and clatter of the food service people hard at work.

“Could be we wind up on a diet like Dr. Tralnor’s, eating peanut butter and jam sandwiches for a few days while sitting in the dark, but we’ll make it there.” Glad to have given Kirk tolerable to good news, he got the both of them headed down below to engineering.

  
  
  
Jim and Billie arrived in the shuttle bay as their squad of Vulcan operatives were doing the last recheck on their equipment and loading up ShuttleDirect hull No.213. Making sure everyone in this sector could hear, Bergman was running his mouth about socks, loud and manic, emphasis on favorite pairs, and how the best ones never rubbed, blistered, or pinched. “Is he like this because he’s nervous or because he’s like this?”

“Nervous.” Billie responded to Kirk’s whisper. “Overwhelmingly nervous.”

“That’s what I was guessing. He’s being weird, even for him.”

“For once, I agree with your opinion about Joe.” She kept a wary eye on her former co-star.

“Is Sohja thinking he’s going to have some kind of panic attack?” The captain’s thoughts went to his own recent experience with that phenomenon, unnerving and almost terrifying, Jim didn’t think anyone should suffer from those spells. “We’ll have to hold him back so he doesn’t do anything too crazy?”

“I don’t know, Jimmy. All I’ve got is that I’m of the mind that whatever it is, it can’t be good.” She waved to her human friend. Joe stopped what he was doing for long enough to offer a smile and a wave.

So far it seemed this send-off was a lot less dramatic and tearful than the morning Spock and company had left. “When does Dragon want us to scoot over their direction?”

“When we’re done here. I’m getting distinct hints from Lyudmila that she hopes our tardiness today means we might have to stay a bit later tonight if you catch where that’s going.”

Oh, he caught that whole string of hints. “We might be able to juggle things around in our hectic schedules.”

Sohja stepped out of the back of the civilian shuttle, a bottle in one hand and four plastic cups in the other. She walked to the nearest waist-high crate, set down her haul, and began decanting something into the cups. Finished, she stood, silent, waiting for people to come to her.

“She’s a doll.” Billie said. “Cardinal and Gold through and through. But, we'll have to kick the flagpole in spirit.”

“You’ve completely lost me.” He didn’t know if he should give up on ever trying to understand this tree fort club Billie and her university buddies were part of.

“Just watch, Jimmy. That’s about all I can say.”

“A hint? How does this work?” Kirk’s recognition of the label only lobbed more questions and incredulity. Since the start of the day, he’d thought he’d be a little less rattled when high-strangeness came out to play. “ _Southern Comfort_? I'd have thought a Vulcan would have better taste than that.”

“Um, I don’t think I can, Sohja.” Joe brought his sock-talk to an unceremonious end. “I did make a promise—”

“This is not about promises.” She picked up one of the shots of whiskey and took it to him. “This is a ritual.”

“And ritual grants normalcy in this dark, torturous universe.” Joe said.

Joe sought a yea or nay from Sarek and T’Lal. The ambassador said nothing and the pilot told him to go over to his friend. Billie joined the grouping, as did T’Lal, while Jim stayed off to the side. Whatever this quote-unquote ritual was, he figured that it would be quick and the shuttle on its way.

He expected a schmaltzy talk, a toast, maybe some hugs, but when Sohja pulled a coach’s whistle from under her top, Kirk reminded himself that logical-to-him speculation was not possible with these people. They were a special breed of intense oddball. There was a normal, civilized toast rapidly followed by the shrill blasts of the whistle. A shout of something in unison, booze down their hatches, empty cups remaining in right hands, they formed a line facing toward Jim and Sarek.

A glance at Sarek for, Jim didn’t know, reassurance, explanation, and the older man’s face bore an uncanny serenity. More piercing tweets, they started singing a song while marching in place.

“. . . _When the irish take the field,  
Their blood runs cold  
And they get killed_!  
_Their golden dome is made out of brass_. . .”

 _What the fuck_? _Should I laugh or cry?_ Kirk snagged a page out of Sarek’s book: keep a straight face and observe the absurd, simply let it happen, don’t comment about it.

“ _Cheer_! _Cheer_! _The Trojans are here  
You bring the SoCo and I'll bring the beer  
Send a sophomore out for gin,  
Don't let a sober senior in_!  
_We never falter, we never fall  
We sober up on grain alcohol  
When we yell we YELL LIKE HELL  
for the glory of old ‘SC_!”

“Oh,” Jim said to himself as the whistles went off again and the musical marching came to a loud, orderly halt. “You bring the SoCo, Southern Comfort, Southern California.”

The singers broke up, returning to their previous tasks. Billie sidled up to Kirk. “What you just suffered through, it’s a good luck superstition thing, old pre-game ceremony, a holy communion of sorts. Thanks for grinding your teeth and not running away.”

“So, does this mean you’re going to win?”

“By two touchdowns and a safety.” The brief uplifted mood from the whiskey dance deflated. The captains watched the shuttle prep wind down. “Well, let’s brace ourselves for another dose of chaos.”

The finishing touches gained some edge as Joe caught Sohja moving a modest selection of items onto Wild West Show’s shuttle, Praxidike. He stuttered at her. “ _Wait_ —”

Sarek and T’Lal had gradually been wrangling him toward No. 213, some distraction working in their favor earlier as the producer was busy clucking along about the merits of socks. He snapped out of his general haze and went up to his not-girlfriend.

“Sohja, what’s this?” Bewilderment and concern wracked Joe’s face. “Shouldn’t you be going with us?”

“Joe. . .” She looked over his shoulder to the people who’d recruited her into the higher levels of this mission and got slight nods from both of them. “I wished to tell you of this sooner but was advised against it.”

Staring, blinking, Joe forced the gears in his brain to process what was happening. “Tell me. . . what?”

“You are what is going to keep Ambassador Sarek from succumbing to his heart condition down there.” All fear wiped from her face, she delivered straight facts. “He needs you as a reference for a slower and less powerful heart rate.”

“That isn’t telling me what I need to know. Why aren’t you on No. 213?” Joe’s equilibrium began to give out.

Avoiding a falter in her voice by repeating what she’d wanted to say after nearly miffing the first word, she said, “As the Spare member of a Kennuck-Talse’te, it is my duty to draw attention away from the three of you.”

“Sohja, no!” Head shaking, full-awareness of what she told him whipped through his mind. “ _No, no, no, no, no_!”

A step just out of his reach, Sohja fought to keep her composure. “Joe—”

“Don’t do this. Please, Sohja.” Bergman listed right, tremors beyond his conscious control twitched his hands. “That’s me. _I’m the distraction_. I’m the one keeping the coast clear for you to trounce this fucking thing.”

Sohja had wanted Jim and Billie on hand to hold Joe down because they were human and at much less of a risk of hurting him than if Sarek or T’Lal had to physically restrain the movie man. Kirk didn’t like Joe but to see the guy shatter, just as Sarah David had, just as he had when Spock turned to climb aboard No. 742, this was more than he thought was fair. Joe played the Vulcans at their own games and deserved better than the person who claimed to be his t’hy'la walking out on him.

“For fuck’s sake, let me take your place. Please, Sohja.” Joe fell to his knees, no pride to tangle up in, and begged the woman he loved to reconsider.

Mouth open, Sohja’s jaw trembled. She took two steps back toward him and stuttered to a halt. “I am sorry. . .”

He reached to her. “The universe needs you more than it needs me. . . Please, trade places with me.”

“ _Joe, I_ —” Glassy eyes gave birth to tears she could no longer fight.

His quavering hand grasped at ether. She was still too far away and he was so broken as to not have the strength within to close the distance between them. “ _Sohja_.”

She spoke quickly and fled to her vehicle. Kirk hoped she said what he thought he’d heard: “ _Joe, I love you_.”

  
  
  
“I feel like an asshole for staring.” Sarah gawked at the Dragon’s interior. Smaller, cramped in places, it was more intimate than Enterprise. “I’ve never even toured a boat like this.”

“I’ve been aboard lots of different ships, civilian and Starfleet, but never served aboard anything other than our Constitution Class heavy cruisers.” Chris wasn’t as blatantly leering as Sarah, but he had an eye for detail. “Hey, Krampus, you want us to have Dragon’s communications guy send out a bulletin telling everyone that Lt. David is your woman, don’t cross your path?”

Seltun wasn’t aware of their surroundings so much as he observed all the new people. “That is not necessary.”

“You sure? Might give you some peace of mind.” Chris was first to board the lift that would take them to the bridge. Sarah stepped on, no issues. Seltun, glowering, must have given the male ensign who’d wanted to get on with them a scowl-and-a-half. The young human abruptly changed his mind and said he’d wait for the next car.

“Sarah is an adult capable of informing those who may inquire that she is in a relationship.”

“Did something happen last night?” Chris asked. “You two get into a fight?”

She shook her head in the negative. “Nope. Nothing happened.”

“I regret not having consummated our union.” Seltun’s usual reticence regarding such intimate matters was gone as they geared up to take on Captain Hillyard in a rematch.

“Hell’s bells, Krampus. When you’re ready.” O’Dell maneuvered in on Seltun where the Vulcan had to address him.

“Chris is right, for once.” She didn’t want him to feel he needed to move faster through fear of missing out, peer pressure, or misguided attempts at giving her what he thought she wanted.

“Think with your brain, not your dick, and things should be fine.” The last line uttered before the lift opened to the Dragon’s streamlined bridge. As the door slid open, Chris said, “Ladies first.”

Sarah exited but the boys didn’t. The car whooshed away almost the moment it resealed. As she was shown to the station she’d be sharing with Seltun and Chris, if they ever made their presence known, she thought about how she wanted her Teacher back. She sought advice on how to present a convincing argument to Seltun that she was on his timeline when it came to sex. The Krampus needed the advice of an older man, one with whom he was not too embarrassed to broach such intimate topics.

She entered Dragon’s computer systems with the login information provided by Commander Cosgriff. Chris had gotten her comfortable enough with the program that she felt okay running the initial diagnostics to make sure it and the ship’s computer were still working together. Something about adaptive-algorithmic-transfer-fatigue rang in her mind about why these things often needed to be custom-built into ships’ mainframes instead of copied and installed like word processing software. Given the range of insanity as of late, she’d cross her elbows behind her head and hop around on one foot to please the computer spirits.

 _Let this work_ , she thought.

One of Dragon’s native bridge officers got a little too close and said, “I hope this isn’t a disappointment compared to the Enterprise.”

Concentrating hard on not fucking up with the computer, Sarah had no response to his comment.

“I know I’m not disappointed. It’s _very_ nice to see some new faces here.” His smarmy face reflected in the screens at her borrowed station. “Even we need a science officer every once in a while.”

Her new admirer only split when Cosgriff called him off. Sarah nodded in the first officer’s direction, thanking him for running interference.

“This is why the two of you are going to be fine.” Chris’ voice sounded out on the bridge when the lift car returned and opened. “If I was in your position right now, I’d start looking at wedding dates. If you book the venue and sort out the catering now, that’s most of the headache done and out of the way.”

Those on the bridge who didn’t know Chris or who he was talking to might have believed they were thrust into the conversation of a couple of dudes who were trying to hash things out before one went home to his girlfriend that night. When Seltun stepped off the lift some were rather confused.

“Fantastic, you’ve got it started.” Chris said as he took a spot next to Sarah. “I think we’re as ready as we can get.”

“Very good.” Cosgriff replied to the communication officer’s comment. “If we could get Captains Kirk and Cody to beam aboard, we’d be underway already.”

  
  
  
Joe focused on slow, deep breathing. Kirk and Cody had picked him up off the floor and gotten him seated on a crate. Shivering, he wrapped up in a quilt that had come out of the back of No.213. He repeatedly looked to the spot that Praxidike had occupied.

“Is he losing his shit, Bones?” Jim asked the doctor.

McCoy didn’t speak. He was busy playing with his tricorder and dialing in a dose of something that he administered to the wiped-out human.

“She could have told me.” Joe said. “Given me time to get ready.”

“Sohja knows you, Henny-Penny, knows exactly how you operate.” Billie sat with her friend, wrapping a comforting arm around him. “All you’d have done is plead and beg for her to change places and her mind. You’d have managed to be more insufferable than usual.”

Where he may have laughed at the comment a few hours ago, Bergman only nodded. “My meltdown isn’t going to fuck things up too bad, is it Dr. McCoy?”

“You’ve had a shock, but it’s not the end of the world.” Bones set his diagnostic toys to the side. “Normally, I’d say you should get some sleep and maybe take a couple days to get away from it all.”

Joe pointed toward the no-more-sour-faced-than-usual ambassador. “I didn’t just try to kill him, did I?”

“No, Mr. Bergman, you did not.” Sarek separated from the huddle around Joe and went off to the shuttle.

“Looks like that’s your last boarding call.” Billie let him have one more hug before standing and offering Joe a hand.

“I’ve got it.” He pushed off the crate. “You three, find that bitch, Hillyard, and we’ll take care of things on our end.”

It felt weak-kneed, but Kirk had to say something. “Good luck, Bergman.”

The head-to-toe black seemed to have more of a dampening effect on Joe’s perceived mood than Sohja’s revelations. “Same to you, Captain Jim.”

Now that this was almost over, T’Lal had the shuttle powering up and was ready to blaze a trail down to Pezig’s Gate, the only thing Kirk desperately wished for was the ability to strike Laura Hillyard down, leaving behind a pretty corpse and making the world a safer place.

“Hey, Joe!” Billie shouted, stopping him mid-stride.

“Hey, what?” He’d turned and now had the shadow of a smile on his tired face.

“Fight the fuck on!” She flashed the Victory sign. “And beat the bRuins!”

“Beat the bRuins!” She’d gotten him to laugh. Before he climbed aboard No.213 and assumed the co-pilot’s seat, he hollered back, “We hate those guys!”

  
  
  
Dragon’s bridge was of a much pared-down design compared to Enterprise’s spacious digs. All the extra officers made the tight space stuffy, giving the air a whiff of perfumed antiperspirant and armpits. McCoy had, since his earlier morning encounter with Bergman over in Rec Room 2, gotten the distinct sensation that stolen and swapped out circuit relays were the absolute least of their worries.

He stood with Jim and watched on Kuznetsov’s main viewer as No.213 flew off toward the planet. Dragon would follow after, but only when a safe distance was met between the shuttle and the patrol boat. “I should have gone with them.”

“Huh?” Kirk, probably distracted by other things than the ShuttleDirect rental fading into the horizon, had to ask McCoy to repeat himself.

“I should have gone with Tralnor’s momma.” He kept his voice low as to not broadcast his new feeling. “Sometimes, I swear that I should get me one of those crystal balls. They’re going to get caught up in some shit.”

“Sort of figured that was a given. After what Billie’s told me about the Captain and the Ambassador, they live for days like this.” Jim thought he was offering confirmation. “We need you here.”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to make me feel like less of a set of boar tits, Jim. But, it’s like Sohja said the other night: expect bodybags.” The viewer switched off and Kuznetsov started issuing navigation orders. “And I’m just standing here and thinking that as a doctor that I might keep a couple of those bags vacant.”


	132. Chapter 132

Pezig’s Gate didn’t seem to give much of a shit about what a random executive shuttle and the people aboard were doing charging into the wilderness areas of the planet, so long as the unannounced visitors declared anything involving mineral rights if they happened upon it. Joe, who’d learned at a tender age that human greed had no unbreachable levies, let himself have a laugh at Pezig’s expense when T’Lal closed out contact with C and C.

He made the switch from orbital to terrestrial aerospace traffic control and monitored the copilot’s boards. He was an extra set of eyes in the cockpit, mostly up there to stay busy and keep his addled mind off Sohja. Her name sounding inside his skull clobbered him in the head and heart. Joe knew why she did what she did, that it wasn’t her intention to screw him over or make him look stupid to the other humans in the shuttle bay.

A shuffling sound signified that Sarek was not staying put in his seat. “Do not be upset at Sohja, Mr. Bergman.”

“Uh-huh.” He said, trying to retain his focus on the task of monitoring his board.

Sarek hovered at the edge of the cockpit. “I insisted that she not burden you with the details of my health.”

“She’s a good person who volunteered to go down on her own.” Joe went on. “She stepped up to be the sacrifice if that’s what’s needed.”

“Yes, she did.” The older man confirmed.

Joe started an auxiliary feed from the topographical satellite beacons, wanting for No. 213 to have the most up-to-date lay of the land, not just the standard map download as sent out by C and C. “I’m not mad at her, Sir.”

“You are certain?” Was Scary Uncle concerned for Joe? “It was not my wish that I instigate a disturbance between the two of you.”

“Nope, not mad. Head spinning from the shock of a surprise left hook that dropped me to the ground? Oh yeah.” He revolved to face the diplomat as T’Lal seized full control of the navigational inputs. “I know Sohja is doing what she believes is right. If you need to keep me close so your heart doesn’t explode, that means I can’t be the asshole running around down there like my hair is on fire. Though, if you think about it, that would be one hell of a distraction.”

Sarek looked as though he had no issue visualizing such a scene. “Mr. Bergman, I am indebted to you.”

“What?” Joe flatly disagreed. “No.”

Sarek, ready to contradict Joe’s insistence that like Sohja, there were some tasks one takes on as part of being a decent person, was interrupted. T’Lal said, “Take your seat and engage the restraints, Sa-pi-maat.”

This was Joe’s cue that he needed to put his mind back to flying and work the copilot’s station.

T’Lal started the atmospheric burn sequence. “We are flying into a storm system. Expect turbulence.”

  
  
  
Figuring out which panels of mockstone had wyantium mixed into them was as simple as Sha’leyen’s alternate light source was to use. In some places, Spock and Tralnor had to peel decoration or fixtures from the walls to see if the surfaces glowed. The map they’d made up during previous attempts at figuring out the store was re-used and notations made regarding the forensic test result.

“I am not seeing a pattern to the dispersal of inert to fluorescent slabs.” Spock’s failure to find any particular order to the space rang true for Tralnor as well.

“It must have made sense to the people who installed them.” Tralnor tried to find a sequence while also not assigning any traits to what he saw. There wasn’t enough information or explanation available to offer rational explanations for this building, the city, or the prison. Given the time period when this institution was in use, the architects may not have had a single linear plan for this store.

Section after section had nothing to tell the Starfleet men. It was on their examination of the rear corner of the showroom farthest from the main entrance and the windows that one in a series of wyantium impregnated slabs was framed by a narrow band of something that offered no response to the light. When examined in the beam of a normal torch, there was initially nothing to show this spot was any different than a plain wall two doors up the street.

Thorough, Spock looked over the framed area, his expert observational skills soon picked up on something Tralnor knew he wouldn’t have seen. “Along the baseboard, barely visible, is a set of tracks indicative of a nesting pocket door.”

“What do you suppose this, is a doorframe?” The music teacher searched out the flush handle. “This is how they got out. Look close, there is recent damage to the patina, where one of them rubbed away some of the grime.”

Spock touched the release. One could then pull the door by the small handle that popped out, force it open a crack and get their hands in the gap and shove it along on its wheels. Trying to use the handle alone put energy and stress loads on all the wrong places, making it harder to move. “Are you ready?”

“No, but there isn’t much in the way of prep for entering a labyrinth.” His nose alighted on the detail that the air coming from the hidden walkway was fresh. That had some validity as a good sign. “Let’s hope that we don’t run into the Minotaur.”

The door rolled smoothly thus allowing them to cross through a portal into the realm of terroristic phantasm. Tralnor fingered the thin braid of hair still wrapped around his neck and knew beyond doubt that his birthright was being called into play.

  
  
  
“I am so sick of the rain.” Mollie stepped after Sha’leyen. “I have to agree with my Auntie Theresa that people who like this weather have mental problems.”

“Maybe that explains why Belon is such a fucking miserable circus. It rains there like it did when I lived in London.” Sha’leyen did her visual once-over of the medical clinic they’d chosen to search. “Start with opening the cabinets. If you find something you’ve never heard of and is not on the list of drugs I provided, let me know.”

Mollie acknowledged the directive and was left on her own to ransack exam rooms. The purpose of checking this building was not about finding the tavalik duv-tor. The bioarchaeologist was on the hunt for medicines and compounds previously unknown or redacted from public knowledge. She thought it a possibility an antidote for ketro’nistin existed in the prison world’s long-abandoned medical establishments.

With more people arriving who could search out the insidious box, a side-trek for the long-term health of all mair-rigolauya was a worthy diversion. Sha’leyen placed her focus on the storage closets, laboratory, and offices. She started in the lab hoping to hit paydirt early on in her search.

  
  
  
Praxidike, at the root of things, was the same as the executive haulers that Sohja trained on. She could fly, that wasn’t an issue. Had she not been infused with T’Lal’s memories and subliminal instruction on operating this specific craft, she might have crashed for touching the wrong set of buttons. This little Starfleet bird was chocked full of systems and scanner arrays that Sohja had no idea what they did. For all she knew, the toggle beneath an unknown gage labeled AQR-8.2 would start a self-destruct sequence and she’d blow up before getting to the ground.

As she entered the atmosphere, she wasn’t ready for the thunderclouds that rattled her and the shuttle. Where the likes of No. 213 had fail-safes that kicked in and allowed the autopilot to take over if the flying got too rough, the people at the yokes of crafts like this were expected to have more skill than Sohja possessed, meaning that autopilot engaged only in the direst circumstances.

Some phantom checklist of T’Lal’s engaged in Sohja’s brain, slipping her the information she needed to keep Praxidike under control. Heavy cloud cover made her rely on the artificial horizon screen and other instruments. She had to force a state of calm in her mind and let her borrowed skills come out. This was not the time or place to fixate on how she was vastly more comfortable when she had visual input to combine with more limited instrumental data.

As a graduate student, Sohja was asked by a visiting instructor who’d had scant exposure to Vulcans, or any psions, if it was possible to “program” skills and knowledge into a person rather than send them to school? She disappointed him with how short-lived these telepathically transferred lessons were if the receiver didn’t immediately put a lot of work into actually mastering the skill/information they were given. After today, Sohja was allowed to forget the missing elements of flying a military spec shuttle.

Below the dense layers of storm clouds, the mountainous landscape was somewhat discernible to the naked eye, though fog swathed peaks and rain made the view fuzzy. She thought the backcountry looked like British Colombia. Millions of hectares spread out, only fading into the distance with the curvature of the planet. Entering a slight course correction, through a short break in the clouds, Sohja thought she caught a metallic glint on the edge of her visual field.

Someone else was headed to the dead city and the craft was not No.213.

  
  
  
The rig that the fucktards at the hire counter gave Silvio smelled like cheap perfume and piss, leftovers from previous disgusting customers that he’d be charged for no doubt. Just as with every other rental he’d dealt with, it handled like a pig, and the company that owned it thought it was made out of gold. A single scratch on the worn-out junkmobile and they’d try to soak him for the full cost of a replacement not just the cleaning fee from past casino hoppers.

This was his second pass at getting into the backwoods of this useless world. An hour earlier, a lumberjack passing himself off as a cop, a backcountry ranger as the guy explained, stopped Silvio, and rather than issuing some citations for whatever contrivance of the day came to mind, there was an unexpected bureaucratic tap-dance to trip up the freighter man.

Silvio had to show Lumberjack that all he was doing was taking some supplies to his captain. He wasn’t a prospector, artifact hunter, or anything of that persuasion. After showing his paperwork for the shuttle and a confirmation call to the car company, Lumberjack made Silvio sign some liability waver or some shit like that. Only then was he allowed to pass through and contact Captain Nyleen Connolly.

Lumberjack followed him out of the administration building and back into the parking area. Wondering if he was some kind of strange entertainment, Silvio stopped and asked what else was wrong?

“I can see by the way you’re walking that something might be wrong. Do you need any medical assistance at this time?”

“I’m doing just fine.”

“As part of my law enforcement background, I’m trained to look for signs of domestic abuse, Mr. Sharpe.” Lumberjack thought he was trying to help.

Deciding he couldn’t be mean to this guy, Silvio tried to stay pleasant-ish. “Nothings the matter. My Old Man is, no sense in being delicate, loaded for bear if you get what I mean.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.” Typical cop response. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“My husband has an enormous dick. He could probably use it to sweep chimneys but he fucked me with it last night instead.” A laugh, a bit of a sly grin, Silvio continued, “Some people wake up hungover after a night spent having fun. I hobble a bit. Small price to pay.”

Lumberjack didn’t believe him but there was no evidence that a crime had taken place. He let Silvio escape and return to his mission for the day.

He’d made it about half a kilometer over the border when that fucking Hoskins called to harass him. “What the hell do you want?”

“Are you there yet?”

“Does it look like I’m anywhere right now? I said I’d let you know when I got there.” He thought he could make up for lost time by speeding, but any attempt would be thwarted. The shuttle had a governor that wouldn’t let Silvio or anyone else at the controls go at a reasonable rate.

“Well, when you land, don’t start any shit with Veddah.” The doctor was looking like he was regretting his choice to stay behind on Sweetness.

“ _Excuse-eh-what-the-fuck_?”

“The kid, I need him to run the diagnostics and give her meds. He’s a scientist, my hands and eyes down there, and will have a better understanding of what I need from her than you would.” Hoskins didn’t show any understanding of how outrageous he sounded.

“You’re using its name?” Silvio had to wonder if he was missing some vital detail, a corner in the recent past where the doctor couldn’t follow the curve and shot straight off an embankment.

“If it will keep you from flipping out and trying to pick a fight with the kid, which you’ll lose, again, I’ll refer to him as Tasty-Snatch. Once you turn those supplies over, don’t get in the way, don’t spout off, don’t do anything stupid, and for the love of life itself, don’t resemble a threat to Laura.” Hoskins glared at Silvio’s incredulity. “If you think I’m spouting gospel from my ass, Tasty-Snatch will beat you to death if he so much as gets a microscopic hint that you’re going to hurt her or take her.”

“A sick captain and a psychotic Vulcan. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Feel sorry for yourself some other time.” Any of the leftover goodwill from this morning had burned away. “ _Fucking call me when you get there_.”

No time for a nasty dig before the screen went blank, Silvio began an internal monologue on his hate for that pretty green boy. That didn’t last long because there was zero room in his attention span for anything that wasn’t safely navigating the lumbering black storm clouds up ahead.

  
  
  
Lt. O’Dell had to step away from the console where he and his team of Enterprise officers sat so he could manually confirm or dismiss the identification of MV Sweetness. Kirk was glad for that just-in-case measure. So far, there were no winners in the merchant ship scavenger hunt.

Billie had taken up at the science station, Kuznetsov dismissing her usual guy so she could keep Buffalo Bill Cody on the bridge. Personnel juggled so certain guests were on the frontline, Dragon pushed deeper into the solar system.

“Automated buoy systems are asking for our cargo manifest, Captain.” Dragon’s borrowed communications expert said. “They’re not letting me say we’re not hauling cargo. When I do, it switches to demanding a passenger manifest instead. It’s not taking Starfleet for an answer.”

“Shows how often they get us out here.” Kuznetsov said. “Cody, what’s the guy you are supposed to say you are when caught doing something stupid?”

Billie swiveled in her chair. “We’ve gotten caught, tried to deny everything, we’ve got a cargo called Tony Fox.”

“Tony Fox it is. Make it twelve cargo containers of Tony in our shuttle bay and twenty, no, thirty-five passengers, all Tony Fox in our two sets of miserly guest quarters. That should shut up those automated snoops.” Kuznetsov, following the insanity of Enterprise’s fight with Pezig’s bureaucracy the day before, didn’t have the patience for such games today, especially with the whole mission running hours behind.

“Yes, Sir.” The order, accepted, was directly executed. It wasn’t a minute later when the communications specialist updated the situation. “The system must be friends with Tony Fox. We’re through.”

“And full steam ahead.” Kirk spoke softly while ramping up his internal battle against the anxiety and dread of reconnecting with the man he desperately hoped still loved him.


	133. Chapter 133

“This place was a prison? It's got the distinct vibe of Wenatchee. When I think of prisons, I get pictures of metal bars, forcefields, armed guards, not a could-be resort town in the Cascade Mountains.” Joe wasn’t versed in these things like the two people exiting the shuttle behind him. Set down in the middle of an empty street, the only other evidence of people being No.742 some sixty meters away, this was a reminder of visits Joe had made to empty backlot sets.

What he found the most surprising was a specific lack of fungal damage to the structures as brought about by damp and other molds. In an environment this wet, a city abandoned for centuries should have been a mossy, overgrown, mycological bonanza, not to mention the jarring lack of trees and other flora. The Ancient Vulcans must have used some long-lasting inhibitory compounds to keep the city ready for the next film shoot. “I don’t think I like it here. It’s making the pulp in my teeth buzz.”

“Do inform us if that feeling increases.” T’Lal said. “Such reaction is a subconscious barometer in response to psychic imprints left behind in this place.”

 _That’s asinine_! Joe wanted to holler but held back. “How much of a bad omen is it that I’m picking up on this?”

He didn’t get a response. All their focus shifted to Mollie and Sha’leyen. The women walked out of a structure and they were reporting to No. 742. However, they wound up bypassing their shuttle and meeting with this new contingent dispatched from the Enterprise.

Joe thought the women looked tired but otherwise healthy. After exchanging greetings, he tried to find the missing half of Mollie’s team. “Where have the guys wandered off to?”

“They’re examining a clothing store that’s about two blocks west of our position here.” Mollie pointed in the general direction before inquiring, “Joe, where’s Sohja?”

  
  
  
“Why did I just get a message saying Sweetness’ slush account was hit up for a car rental under the name George Sharpe?” Morgana had no niceties to share with Hoskins. She availed herself of the one extra chair he’d wedged into his tiny office. “If you had such important business dirtside, why would you send that incompetent whinger to take care of things? That’s discounting the fact that he’s still supposed to be under house arrest aboard this ship.”

The doctor wasn’t about to cop to the agoraphobia that plagued him when he left the confines of star-going vessels and orbital stations. Years ago, open spaces were a niggle mostly laced with worry that someone he couldn’t see would leap from the shadows and physically beat him to the brink. Most people in Hoskins’ position might have worried about being pegged as a criminal and sent to prison. The prospect of incarceration didn’t strike him as an entirely bad thing. He struggled with the paranoia about being attacked. It had expanded and he didn’t feel safe anywhere that wasn’t hemmed in by deck plates and bulkheads.

“Lt. Ryan, some days you are far too serious for your own good. We both know Mr. Mazzi is an annoying twat.”

Morgana gripped the front edge of the desktop. “Don’t fuck with me today, Dr. Hoskins.”

“I set him loose down there so that when he gets back from being my errand boy he’ll see that he’s either got to find his own way or return to the fold and behave himself for a while.” As a distraction technique, he let his memory play around with the night he and Morgana spent together. It was a recollection that for an average man was of little importance. Yes, the only reason she’d come to him was an obligation for a bet, but she’d treated him like a person rather than a sideshow oddity. He was deeply thankful for that one good experience.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t have said something. If I’d known you were wearing him out like a two-year-old so they’ll sleep through the night, I wouldn’t have had to stomp in here.” She was sick of dealing with a crew that had more in common with animals at the zoo than people. “Let’s shift the subject, Doctor.”

“Please do.”

“What is so damned bad down there that Laura and her toy needed this instant re-supply?”

“I’m sorry, Lt. Ryan.” Hoskins didn’t disclose information about his patients unless he was at the business end of a phaser rifle. “That’s a patient/doctor privilege situation. Without a signed affidavit or medical power-of-attorney form on file where she’s designated you as the recipient of our private consultations, I can’t say anything.”

“The strange things we choose to uphold as part of our personal moral code. . . Silvio should be back by tonight?” Morgana’s copper-colored hair looked harsh and rusty in this light.

“So long as he doesn’t get into a dick-measuring contest with Veddah, that Italian moron should be here by 1800.”

She had to pause and process what Hoskins said. “Who’s Veddah?”

“Trick question, Lieutenant?” He knew she wasn’t one to make humorous comments.

“No tricks here, Dr. Hoskins.”

“The Vulcan, that’s his name.” How did people not know this? “Though lately I usually refer to him as Tasty Snatch.”

“I think that describes him rather well. He certainly is pretty.” She said of the captain’s favorite prisoner.

Thinking that the irritation and snoopiness had moved on, that Morgana would leave as abruptly as she’d arrived, Hoskins asked what else she needed when she didn’t bolt up to the bridge.

“I need you to be honest with me Dr. Hoskins.”

He was not going to make that promise. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“The reason I decided to meet you here in your burrow and chew your ass in private is that the last time I spoke to Laura directly, she looked worse than a lot of the dead bodies I’ve seen. Just how sick is the captain?”

“Speculating, using generalities instead of specifics, if I go with what I’ve seen and based on what Tasty Snatch has relayed, she might have another four, maybe five, days left.” In the realm of law-abiding citizens, patient-physician privilege was highly valued. Out in the trenches, so that Laura stood a chance at surviving, he’d divulge some of what he knew to the first officer. He almost said, _I’m guessing it’s a terribly aggressive autoimmune disorder, that her body is attacking itself_.

Confusion and worry darkened Morgana’s features. “Four or five days of what?”

“Life, Lt. Ryan.” The former veterinarian was glad that he didn’t have to dress up this grim news to soften the blow. “She’ll be dead by the end of the week.”

  
  
  
“Sohja should have checked in with you guys. She beat us down here by an hour, at least.” Joe glanced around for the absent Vulcan.

“We did not know she was traveling separately.” Sha’leyen gestured for the group to follow her into No.742. “If we had, we’d have checked for her a fair few times by now.”

Situated in the craft, Mollie engaged the heating system, relishing the warmth the moment it registered to her skin. She’d have the cabin toasty, probably too much like a convection oven for Joe which guided her decision to back off the sweltering temperature by four degrees once she got the proverbial frost knocked out of their bloodstreams.

“She’s your Tralnor, isn’t she.” Mollie set her hand on Joe’s shoulder to offer solidarity.

The human’s pale blue eyes showed the quaking fear in his heart. “Mollie, I keep repeating to myself that hope is not a strategy. If she’s stuck out here by herself, she’s got to win her own battles until we can get to her. She’s smart, she’s agile, she’s a pretty good shot, but she didn’t get a fraction of the training that you and I did, and we didn’t get a hell of a lot.”

“May Kotekru Kaylara grant her the strength and clarity to meet us when the day reaches its end.” Sha’leyen emerged from the cockpit, data padd in hand. “We got a quick burst from her while we were still up in the stratosphere." Joe feigned a lack of concern, but even his acting chops couldn't mask his regard for this situation. "She said that she is following up on a shuttle, not one of ours, that she saw come down near here.”

“Any details?” Mollie held onto her friend. (We’re going to get through this, Joe.)

“We don’t have the equipment available to scan for a Starfleet shuttle. When we finished the retrofit of No.742, there were some things we had to leave out.” Sha’leyen said.

“Engage the weapons targeting system.” T’Lal started toward the flight controls. “That will grant us some insight into Sohja’s location.”

Mollie couldn’t follow T’Lal and Sha’leyen’s exchange after a certain point. She didn’t know a thing about compensating for electromagnetic signal distortion or erroneous atmospheric/geological ping-back data and how such things hampered a remote search for Joe’s t’hy’la.

Using No.742’s defenses in an off-label manner didn’t give them a neat set of X-marks-the-spot definitive coordinates for Praxidike, but it narrowed the location of her landing zone to areas on the western slopes just outside of the city. T’Lal powered the controls off.

“That is a method of discretely seeking out another ship that my Check Captain taught to me when I was in flight school. It can be especially useful for civilian ships like rockhoppers in undeveloped areas." T'Lal rose from the co-pilot's seat. "It allows you to figure out if any other vessels are in the immediate vicinity without having to take up physical space for scanners or find room on the small self-contained operating drives that run the computer.”

“What does rockhopper mean?” Mollie thought that sounded like a reasonably comprehensible term for an absolute novice in all of this shuttle-flying and related topics. All the time she’d spent aboard Vulcan exploratory ships, she was not concerned with helm function or any other essential bridge matter.

“It is freighter parlance for a small ship that is capable of landing on a planetary surface and returning to space.” T’Lal said.

“My adoptive grandfather had a rockhopper that he ran when he needed to go unnoticed into certain places.” Sha’leyen offered. “What’s going to work best for us is when Dragon arrives and can tell us what they’ve seen from above, but we might not have the time to wait for her.”

“Assume we do not.” Sarek went with the most likely scenario.

“What’s the likelihood of tracing her through our bond?” Joe, who hadn’t been fine with Sohja branching off on a secondary mission, was disturbed that she’d gone after someone. “Say this person leads her directly to the box or Laura Hillyard?”

  
  
  
Some people described anxiety as having an elephant sitting on your chest. Tralnor preferred a different example, his viscera reacted to pressure from all directions as mummy bandages were wrapped around him in successively tightened layers. An elephant was too merciful, too quick. . .

Shadows of monsters, bringers of death, perpetual darkness, the tunnel took Tralnor and Spock into a concordance of wraiths. They stood on the shore of a sea of pain as manifested by the most extensive cache of artifacts of malice of which either of the men had any awareness. A casual observer would only see a space reminiscent of museum storerooms or auction houses that handled the sale of the unusual. However, these things were not for the public to see or acquire.

Lightheaded, nearly unable to breathe, Spock sucked in a lungful of air. The empathic element of Spock’s psi abilities threatened to bury him beneath the weight from thousands of years worth of the very worst Vulcan had to offer.

“They’ve been here.” Tralnor indicated they should go to his left.

After a few steps where he made progress, Spock stayed behind, rigidly adhered to the mockstone under his feet. Tralnor returned to his friend. “Spock?”

“This is suffocating.” Spock managed another breath. “How can you stand existing this way, eternally choking on the psychic residue of the living and the dead?”

Tralnor didn’t ask, not wanting a negative reaction, and in a throwback to their childhoods, he grasped Spock around the wrist. (Breathe with me. Let’s take this together so we don’t blackout when we go through here.)

Together, they officially entered the great hall of wicked remains, skirting the outer margins of the room. It might take longer to go this less direct route over to the other conjoined tunnel Laura and Veddah used to make good their escape from these potent relics. Necrotic curios leered at them, threatened to wrap around their limbs like so many jungle vines, gobbling them up, breaking their spirits rather than shattering their bones. By propping Spock up against the unrelenting tsunami, Tralnor capitalized on the even affect, drawing some into himself, keeping cool instead of struggling against the mummy’s cladding.

Thankfully, trailing after Sweetness’ captain and her prisoner involved a different sense than psionics. They followed the scent of the dying human woman.

  
  
  
Caught in steam rising and drifting from the complex of hot springs Spock experienced something of a private ecstasy at leaving the crypt and associated tunnels. The men stood in the open air not yet daring to sever physical contact and decided to let biochemical signatories of fear level off before pushing onward. No longer caught in hell’s warehouse, Spock reflected on why his reaction was such that he was inundated and immobilized.

“Tralnor, my behavior and what I said—” His voice cracked, the way he’d failed to act when they arrived at that hoard was unbecoming.

“Empathic abilities are harder to control than our own emotions. We know ourselves well enough, or we should by this stage of life, that we’ve got an understanding of our triggers, our likes, and what we consider mundane.” This was not Tralnor letting him off. “With the external emotions of other people/places/things, it’s hard to tell if or how another person’s experience will render us.”

“That seems too convenient an excuse. I should not have had to rely on you to get me through there.”

“If we don’t rely on one another, how do any of us survive?”

“Perhaps,” Spock had thought this many times in the nearly four decades he’d been inflicted on the universe, “it is for the overall good that some of us become attrition statistics before we take someone else down with us.”

“You got me out of there, Spock.”

That claim gave pause. “In what manner?”

“It’s a technique I’ve had few reasons to ever implement. I’d have made it to a certain point, near to some particularly vicious trinket, and come up against the same wall you’d hit. Visiting calm into your mind while I was still capable of attaining some let me exploit hyper-empathy by sensing that same calm coming from you. Without you to amplify that for me, we’d be stuck in that place.” The music teacher used his free hand to squeegee the accumulating moisture off his face and neck. “We’d have become two more corpses attributed to the people and the things deliberately hidden down there.”

  
  
  
Anticipation frayed when manual confirmation showed the promising ship that ticked so many of the criteria outlined by the recognition software was not MV Sweetness. The boat they were looking at, Emerald Isle, was the same class, make, model, probably launched from the same assembly line as the ship they needed. Sarah would have been fooled into pinning down the wrong vessel.

She, and Seltun, could run the program, Chris had described their roles saying that they were essentially acting as a part of the hardware, primary and secondary sweepers who delivered suppositions to O’Dell for the final say. Sarah wouldn’t have wanted to take on any more responsibility in this hunt.

Captain Kuznetsov asked if Dragon could go any faster or take a more direct route to their parking space around Pezig’s Gate. It obviously pained Chris to tell her that this was as quick as they dared push the search program. No one wanted to stop the wrong ship, get caught up in a mess, and have Laura Hillyard sneak away.

“Steady as she goes.” Kuznetsov said.

Sarah made a minor adjustment to the number of degrees scanned per deflector sweep. With a narrower spread, they’d get back more accurate information for ship examined, with less reliance on Chris’ final say, thus slightly speeding up the process.

“Navigation, have you plotted our flybys of the commercial docks?” Chris, who’d worked with Sulu and Chekov on Enterprise’s bridge for a couple of years let them have a thumbs up and a grin when they answered in the affirmative. “Come to papa. . .”


	134. Chapter 134

Touchdown in a tight secluded clearing approximately one kilometer away from the mystery shuttle, Sohja pulled on her insulated black gloves and set off into the forested borderlands that buffered the prison bureaucrats from their charges. Quieter than she was swift, taking extra caution at not sliding or falling from an ill-placed step into mud, rocks, or vegetative debris, it took far longer than she’d have liked to position herself on a line of sight with the unknown shuttle.

Encroaching on another small glen, she viewed a rental, one far less swanky than the ShuttleDirect Gulfstreams, the vehicle was of a make and model that did not belong out in this wilderness. Whoever had taken it from the human settlements and flown it here was foolhardy or desperate. Sohja hung back, observing the craft to figure out how she was bypassing it and if in that process she needed to investigate the poorly maintained craft.

Parsing out different sounds, rain, air currents, wildlife, she listened for the unmistakable locomotion of a humanoid body. When her ears set upon the bipedal movement, she heard a person walking away, continuing west from this location. It must have been a man based on the impact and frequency of the footfalls. Was he human, did he have a legitimate reason for being out here, could she be confronting a lost tourist?

When the man placed a safe distance between them, she didn’t immediately pursue him. She used this moment of solitude to learn about him from anything he may have left behind in the parked shuttle. Medical supplies meant nothing to her when all she came across was fodder from a typical first-aid kit. No overnight bag, no camping equipment, he was not planning on being here very long. Search concluded, she finished crossing the clearing as to keep on the trail of this stranger.

Left foot thrust forward, she didn’t step off, rather she held fast to the rough bark encasing the tree she’d chosen as her hide. Her vision was not entirely her own. She had to think of who else’s optical input was layered over the signals captured by her sensory organs. Questions of why and how shot across her bow to be answered by her neurology. Joseph Alexander Bergman, when she did not deliberately engage him, existed as a perpetually smoldering clinker on the outer limits of her mental arena.

A psi-null, Joe’s ability to consciously reach her mind was nonexistent. Yet in the here and now of an ancient forest, with the help of T’Lal and Sarek, her human shield-brother projected his faculty into her.

(Sohja?) He sounded/felt marked discomfort at this form of communication that stemmed from worry that he was invading her privacy. (Say something if you can hear me.)

Folded into a parcel of goodwill, she replied, (I hear you, Joe.)

Sohja tested the connection, offering some support to the link, aiding the displacement of his weary nervousness. The Kennuk meld that she’d been kept out of was the first thing she noticed when feeling out this session so she could know where and what to avoid to not wreak havoc on that collective.

(We need to know where you are and who you’re after.) _Sohja, please don’t get hurt_ , an undirected thought strayed from Joe.

(The person I’m trailing is human, male, between thirty-five and forty-five years old, and he walks with a stiff gait borne of unknown etiology. The documents in his rented shuttle say he is called George Sharpe. However, I am inclined to believe that Sharpe is an alias of the same category as Nyleen Connolly and Batai Zhalan-t’Mazhyon.)

(It’s one of Captain Hillyard’s crew?) He didn’t want her to be right.

(Included in the items I examined when I looked around inside the car, I found a bracelet in the pilot’s footwell. It is of the same style as those I saw on AVDL members when I was in Campbell City. They are exclusive to those individuals who have put the time and effort into the cause that they are called Permanent Combatants. It is an honor amongst those. . . people.) She’d pocketed the jewelry as evidence that one AVDL man had been on Pezig’s Gate. She sent Joe as much as she could regarding where she’d ended up. T’Lal siphoned that information off to someone, not Mollie, in close physical proximity.

(Lt. Commander Sha’leyen is going to give you a look at a drawing of the tavalik duv-tor’s box. She’s reminding you that if you find it, don’t handle it, just do what you can to keep Laura away and we’ll come to you.) Joe was using his mind to affect the same tone and cadence he used when doing voiceovers. Sohja would tell him about it later.

The image traversed the meld and she was almost amazed at how similar it was to a trinket box her mother owned. But instead of earrings, the one they sought on Pezig’s Gate harbored pure evil. How did something so benign—

(Sohja.) Joe snapped her from the memories. (If you find it, keep Laura out of it, and wait for us. Right?)

(Understood.) She willed herself not to cling to Joe as he retreated. A confirmation of the time and place they’d meet tonight if no progress was made in the search was all she got from him before he was pulled back. Alone in her head once more, she left the rental in the clearing and continued on her pursuit of the AVDL man.

  
  
  
“There is a book that Joe and I read and talked about. . .” Spock asked himself if this was relevant, but considering their situation, they were in a state of anything goes.

Tralnor wasn’t having the easiest time following Laura and Veddah’s trail psionically or using his olfactory sense. The psychic impressions the couple left on their route were weak, often blotted out by the scars of yesteryear. Sulfuric compounds and other noxious gasses buried their scent. “Joe told me about your little two-man book club ages back. He likes to dissect stories to a level that I’ve never had the drive or patience for. If he hadn’t gone into film I think he might have become a writer.”

“I believe that is a fair assessment.” In a near stumble, Spock was quick to right himself and while he’d needed Tralnor’s soothing earlier, he was glad they were no longer touching. They’d have both fallen down.

“I can feel that this story holds a lot of meaning for you. What’s the book?”

“Bradbury, _Something Wicked This Way Comes_.”

“That’s a good one. Joe always tries to run his choices by me to make sure they’re not too wildly inappropriate. When he suggested it, I thought you’d like it. He knows quality literature when he sees it.” After sidestepping a calcified tree root knotted up out of the ground, the music teacher stopped and listened. Nothing significant set off any warnings and they continued on their date with destiny.

“He made a comment that has resonated with me. While we’ve walked, I have put some thought into what you said to me when we came up from the tunnels. This entwines with that book because Joe said that I was Will Halloway and you were Jim Nightshade.” Part of Spock wished the third character in the book’s triad of heroes, Will’s father, was represented in Bergman’s observations and comparisons. Where the man in the book fought deep insecurities about being a dad, he also grappled with perceptions of aging and mortality before coming to a realization about being as young as you believe yourself to be. Sarek, if he thought about such things, would not follow such a development arc to reach a point where he’d choose to become better acquainted with Spock. “He cannot possibly know how prophetic he was. We are seeking Mr. Dark and his carnival of the damned so we can shut it down before it consumes our souls.”

“If I can get us there.” Tralnor stopped again, searching for molecules in the air that betrayed the location of MV Sweetness’ baleful captain.

“Just as the boys in the novel are dependent on one another for survival, we were also forced into mature roles too early in our lives, be it when we were children both in body and spirit, or right now as we take on enemies for which our elders are more capable of committing to demise.” Spock added, “Fortune does favor us in small ways, as there is no temporal carousel to spin us forward or drag us back—”

He heard it, heard them. Spock concluded that two shuttles were near to their location. “Go for the green trees before they both see us.”

Tralnor rushed for cover, Spock only steps behind, and they found themselves forced to hunker down in the underbrush that spun out below the evergreens.

  
  
  
The wyantium interfered with all manner of psychic and mechanical scans. Mollie tried to feel irritated that Spock and Tralnor had flown the coop because that was better than fearing for their lives. Before they went to the abandoned clothing shop, she and Sha’leyen, with T’Lal and Sarek’s help, tried to fetter the men out because they might have wandered off to better prospects for the artifact or just decided to take a break.

“In all of your _travels_ , have you come across a building like this one?” This place wasn’t really a clothing store. What was it a front for? Was this establishment as dangerous or more so than other structures? Where the hell were Spock and Tralnor?

“Mallia, you and I are going to step outside.” Sarek directed her toward the middle of the street.

Still raining, seeming like it might never lift, she looked at her wannabe father-in-law. “You found something, Sir?”

“As we did with Sohja and Mr. Bergman, I want to try and locate my son through you.”

“The Kennuk meld—”

“Is inaccessible.” Sarek let a hard glare fix on the storefront. “Tralnor has walled it off in what is certainly one of his attempts at protecting his family. While his intentions are pure, your brother often leaves entropy in his wake.”

“This isn’t the first time that I think his name should have been changed to Nezhak.” The word for chaos, when taken out of context by human ears, would sound like any other alien name.

“We need an alternate method of finding them. Until USS Dragon and her scanner array make orbit, there is no other way of expeditiously seeking them out.” He’d not wanted to ask this when he’d long ago decided against joining minds with Spock. It was his fault there were no familial threads of psionic inroads once taken to trace back. Those links were deliberately halted before they’d had a chance to begin.

“Spock and I, we’re not married, not really betrothed in any meaningful way, I don’t know if there is enough of a subconscious link between us that he’s traceable by telepathy alone.” She swatted at the rapid accumulation of comments and questions long held in check.

“Are you willing to let us try?”

“Of course.” She didn’t think it had a chance in a billion of succeeding, but she wouldn’t cut off what Sarek thought was a viable option.

“And yes, T’Lal and I have come across structures similar to this store. In each instance, the use was likely bespoke as there are no obvious concise features found in each place. A bakery, a clinic, a machine shop, an office, wyantium impregnated mockstone slabs were in each one.”

“Utilized by torturer’s discretion. . .” Mollie said.

  
  
  
The leisurely pace was doing Jim’s head in. He’d never imagined how many freighters were in attendance at a place with no real population to speak of. Pezig’s Gate wasn’t a stopover on popular shipping routes. No sense in getting frustrated, but damned if it wasn’t irksome. Had Enterprise been allowed in-system, this scanning would be done and MV Sweetness within their sights.

“This seems like a lot of commerce for a sleepy planet like Pezig’s.” Kirk needed to hear that he wasn’t making up potential worries where there were none.

“I had the same thought.” Kuznetsov said.

“Speculation as to what pleasant citizens of this beauty spot are up to?” Damn it, they should have been winding up this scanner project.

“All the skip-chatter is quasi code.” Lt. O’Dell couldn’t turn to address the bridge. “The legitimate commerce and passenger boats make up something like seventy-one percent of the traffic. It’s the other twenty-nine percent that might pose problems.”

“Are these the kinds of problems that mean we should keep our finger on the button?” Cosgriff got out an earpiece to listen in on what O’Dell described.

“Not my call to make, Commander, though we are making some crews awfully nervous.” Chris did another manual check on a ship. “Most of what I’m hearing is about drug running. The locals aren’t in on it and take an almost entirely hands-off stance. All the extra traffic is that many more maintenance calls, food service deliveries, fuel sales, and potential casino gamblers.”

“I don’t think it's worth the effort to try and warn folks that we are only interested in one ship that’s not smuggling anything.” Kuznetsov showed no concern about Pezig’s visitors. “We will continue to mutually ignore one another. Keep the gun ports cold, Donnell. We don’t want to instigate a confrontation.”

“I’d rather not have my ass shot off either, Captain.” Cosgriff was pleased they weren’t looking for a fight.

  
  
  
Given their environment and what he was trying to accomplish, Sarek had to focus all of his energy and attention on making contact with his son. Thus, he allowed for pain and disappointment to show on his face. Like his aunt, T’Pau, he had to place his hand on Mollie’s face to initiate telepathic contact. Their temporary link established, she dropped the shielding he’d have otherwise had to break through, sparing both of them the extra time and potential complications.

. . . _that I am not the appropriate candidate for this search_. . . Sarek was too consumed with the need to find Spock to worry that any of his thoughts on the matter might stray over to Mollie. _T’Lal should be_. . .

Eyes open, Mollie and the ambassador stared into one another, her sadness at not being what Spock needed in a spouse and Sarek’s inadequacy as a father crashed together, leaving them both psychically winded. He took the lead and searched her mind, eager to find his child, methodical, focused, until a detail he let slip offered an in-depth reason why he was the one attempting the capture of her and Spock’s hypothetical link.

. . . _something I have wanted that I can never have, this is the closest I will ever get to a joining with my son_. . .

Sarek could not avoid the inquiry that lit up Mollie’s neurons. (Sir?)

Using his free hand, he took her fingers in his and planted them where they straddled the temporal-parietal suture of his skull, or that’s what it should have been instead of the fused callus she encountered. While he went on with his objective, she felt out the actual physical structures of the ambassador’s skull, psionically sussed out his brain, and sensed the functional capacity of those same places. Her mouth fell open at the pure shock of what he showed her. What she found was healed, massive, blunt-force trauma to the back of his head, cracks that had radiated, circumnavigating his calvarium, both bony and soft-tissue landmarks rebuilt as best as possible, she had to wonder how he’d survived.

(You have an extensive background in neuropsionics and can see why I could never, will never, share in a meld with him?)

(Not even in the literature have I come across someone who’s survived this kind of mixed trauma to the head and remained a functional psion, not to mention the other physical and mental hindrances people with such injuries manifest.) He wasn’t showing her how he’d gotten hurt, just that he had.

(While I did not believe he had any telepathic abilities of note, my son was, as you pointed out, born with more empathic traits than the average Vulcan. While he does not share in your brother’s overwhelming hyper-empathic talent, what Spock does have, in conjunction with our being directly related and thus overtly compatible in our psionic attributes, it is overwhelmingly possible that through a meld he might assume some of my disfigurement and impairment, which is unacceptable. . . Mallia, know that I do love my son, so much so that I chose to try to save him from me. . .)

She said nothing regarding his relationship with his child, remembering how T’Lal had described Sarek regarding his parenting failures like he had an open wound packed with rock salt.

(That he and I are simultaneously here, seeking the same thing, is proof that I did not succeed.)


	135. Chapter 135

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A shoutout to all of my fantastic readers: Thank you for your time and attention. I appreciate it more than you know_.  
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Laura felt her insides whither. Where she and Veddah were waiting for Hoskins to call them and give the coordinates of the medical supply drop, they were on the receiving end of a visit from that imbecile, Silvio, instead. She felt him about five-hundred meters before he hobbled into camp. He was disgruntled, likely more churlish than his usual petty mood. “You look a thousand times worse in-person, Laura. What the fuck happened to you?”

Sweat and a thin layer of grime granted Silvio a ruggedness he didn’t otherwise possess. He had a strange gait that led her to say, “I think the better question is what happened to you?”

“I asked you first.”

“ _Me_?” Laura commented. “I thought that was pretty obvious, I’m sick. Too much time spent out in the rain while we’ve been combing this insignificant planetoid for my treasure.”

He unhitched a large backpack and a cross-body bag. The pack went straight to the ground. The other satchel went to Veddah. “Hoskins says you’ll know what to do with this fucking thing. It’s a lot heavier than it looks.”

Veddah pulled the scanning device from its conveyance and tried to test it out. No matter what he did, it was not responding to his input. Turning it bottom-up, he slid open a panel. “This machine is lacking a power supply. Are the rechargeable cells in your pack?”

“Are you accusing me of something you pissant?” Nostrils flared and Silvio wanted to make a start at Veddah, but the condition affecting his ability to walk kept him planted. “ _Alien devil spawn_. . .”

Laura flopped her head back and let off a laugh. “You’re a perpetual dumbass, Silvio. Only you would put so much effort into hand-delivering something you forgot the batteries for.”

“It’s not in the bag?” Her former XO gestured at Veddah.

“If it was in the damned bag don’t you think he’s smart enough to have found it? It’s not like he’s you.” She silently asked why this moron had suddenly appeared. Hoskins must have had a reason but damned if she could guess what it was.

He upended the pack, dumping its contents on the floor of the cozy cave. Silvio shoveled through the medicines and other apothecary supplies with the toe of his boot, being careful to move just-so. “Son-of-a-bitch, it’s probably back in the goddamned car.”

“I’m thinking Morgana shot you with that Andorian death ray of hers. What you must have said to set her off. . .” Now that he’d made his appearance, brought some of what he was tasked with, she was ready for him to slough off somewhere and whinge at someone who gave more of a shit than she did.

“I wish that’s what went on last night.” He started kicking things toward Veddah. “Let’s just say I wasn’t going to spend another night as your guest in the brig.”

Veddah snapped up a carton of fever reducer tabs. (You might start to feel better if you take some of these.)

She accepted the meds, liberated a couple of doses, and gratefully swallowed them down. “Hey, maybe if you stopped being such a pig-headed bastard you wouldn’t have to find yourself in the brig at all. I doubt that’s crossed your mind. You’d rather raise your hell and wheedle your way out of a just punishment than behave like a normal person. What kind of favor is Morgana going to call in from you?”

“My deal wasn’t with my _temporary_ replacement.”

“While I wait for the meds to kick in, are you going to tell me who sprung you?” She took a dose of anti-inflammatory and chased it down with some cold coffee.

(Adun’a, without the medscanner, Hoskins cannot gather the data he needs to begin your treatment.)

(I know, Veddah.) Her intention of never returning to Sweetness had faded each day longer this illness lingered. (Unless the Doc actually comes down and brings power cells for that scanner it looks like I’m out of luck.)

(I am sorry.) Veddah questioned if he’d done anything different if they could have made good on her plans to flee this life? (I know what starting over was going to mean for you.)

She wanted to demonstrate her appreciation of all the good he’d given her but had to continue to keep tabs on her crewman. (There’s nothing to be sorry about.)

“You really want to know how I got out of that cage?” Silvio sent the last of the supplies flying at Veddah. Vulcan reaction-time and agility didn’t give Silvio the satisfaction of clobbering his rival in the face with a medical device launched from the toe of his boot. “Knowing you, Laura, you’ll find it funny as hell.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.” She divided her attention between the AVDL dingus and her husband. Veddah was taking an inventory of what they’d been brought and relayed it to her. “I love a good laugh.”

(This is a hormonal pregnancy test.) Her husband set that particular item off to the side.

(Damned Hoskins is not giving up, is he?) She could have slugged the vetrinarian for his stubborn pursuit.

“I cut my hand, went to Hoskins, and the two of us came to an understanding. He kept me out of the brig and Morgana’s clutches because I let him fuck me. You’d walk with a limp too after a night with the good doctor.” He smirked, possibly impressed by his self-assessed genius.

“You lived to tell the tale. I’m shocked.” Laura was done with the friendly banter. On the cusp of ordering Silvio to fuck off to the ship, his comm device let out a grating howl.

“Hoskins, I said I’d call you. What are you in such a hurry for?” This voice-only connection was to Silvio’s advantage. Had the CMO watched the demoted man’s face and seen him miming that he thought the doctor was a cocksucker, there was assuredly another round of hard love in Silvio's immediate future. Hoskins could be a spiteful little creep.

“But you didn’t call, did you, Mr. Mazzi?”

“Because you didn’t give me the chance—” Silvio stared at his comm. He’d been cut off and still followed with, “Quit riding my ass you quack.”

Laura answered the doctor’s next attempt at contacting the camp. Hoskins was doing that gross lizard-flick with his tongue, his lust firmly affixed on the human male. “No thanks for sticking us with this booby prize.”

“Tasty Snatch, what are her readings?” A wink from Hoskins sent Silvio to distance himself from camera-range.

“Mr. Mazzi did not include the power cells for the provided unit.” Veddah showed a slip of the professional bearing he presented to his superior officers and other members of USS Seren’s crew.

Slack-faced, Silvio rubbed at his brown. “ _Oh, shit_. . .”

“I asked if you’d gotten everything on the list I gave you.” Hoskins always got a sinister glower when he wanted to slap the stupid off someone.

“And I did.” Silvio said. “I got all the medicine. . . But not the medium Type-9D rechargeable battery.”

(I don’t think we’re getting back to our search today.) She was too tired to make a scene reflecting the irritation she had toward her subordinate. (If these two keep at it, wake me up when they’re done snarling at one another.)

(Yes, Adun’a.) Veddah had found a sheet of anti-nausea patches. (These will help a lot.)

(Fuck yes.) She peeled three off and slapped them on the left side of her neck. (I _love_ this stuff.)

Valiant effort on Hoskins’ part kept him from chewing out his hired gun. “Laura, did you take the test?”

“Nope, he’s only been here long enough to throw shit on the ground.” The medications were taking hold and adding some fortification to her skimpy physical reserve.

“Go take care of it and tell me what it says.” Hoskins couldn’t look at Silvio.

Hand out, Veddah planted the test in her palm. The lack of instruction on the outside of the box and a shake of the contents left her asking what she was supposed to do with whatever was waiting for her within the container. “So, if I don’t piss all over my hand I’ve got to stand around and hold the stick I’ve just pissed on?”

“Please, Laura.” Hoskins was strangely concerned for her.

“Fine, give me a minute.”

(Adun’a, let me—)

(You need to keep a close eye on Silvio. I’ll give you a yell if I need anything.)

Veddah went with her directive knowing it was more sound to keep Silvio from tearing shit up or stealing something vital than she needed someone to babysit her to the bathroom and back. Feeling somewhat better, she was sure that her survival for this part of the day was guaranteed.

  
  
  
“Tralnor.” Spock slowed then leaned against the trunk of a tree. His right eye refused to focus. When he rubbed at it to drive out whatever forest debris might have fallen into said eye, he traced the real source of the dysfunction. “Someone is attempting to contact me.”

“Is it anyone you recognize?”

“They seem somewhat familiar, but it is not a strong enough connection to ascribe a name to them.” Fine muscles spasmed and his brain tried to buck off this new rider. “I cannot discern if they are friend or foe.”

Tralnor got close up. “Do you want me to take a look?”

There was something in the way Tralnor gazed upon Spock that made him suspect that the younger man thought that Jim had battered through the defenses and was back to cause more disruption. “I do not believe it is Captain Kirk.”

“It would be much easier if it was.” Tralnor said and placed a hand to Spock’s face so both men could get the quick resolve they wanted and swiftly return to their goal.

  
  
  
“Is it supposed to light up or play a song or something, anything, if it’s positive?” Laura was unimpressed with the centuries-old method of confirming a pregnancy.

“It’s had enough time to give a result. There’s a readout window. There’s probably a line or an x that’s the control. Beside that, has another line or symbol materialized?”

“That these are still manufactured and in use is crazy. Who the hell wants to do this?” She’d look when Hoskins answered that question. He needed some razzing with the diagnostic inquiry he’d set her on.

“They’re reliable in places where there are a lot of ion or EM storms and they’re especially useful when modern equipment is rendered moot because of _a lack of power_.”

“Fuck off!” Silvio barked.

“And. . .” Laura held up her pee-stick. “Absolutely nothing. All I’ve got is the control.”

Veddah leaned over her to give the cranky vet the confirmation. “She does not appear to have the spike in hormones corresponding with a pregnancy.”

“I fucking told you I didn’t do it.” Silvio made a series of obscene hand gestures at the camera. “I didn’t knock her up.”

She flung the test into the fire. “So, does this mean you can finally think of something new, Doc?”

  
  
  
“My son did not recognize you.” T’Lal’s explanation as to why Tralnor kicked Sarek’s attempt at communication away made sense. “Your mind is foreign to both of them.”

“As it should be.” Sarek replied as he turned away from Mollie.

“Sa-pi-maat, I will try this again after we give Mollie some time to recuperate.”

“Then I shall take a moment for myself.” About ten meters away from the two women, Joe caught up to the ambassador and they talked as they wandered for the shuttle.

 _They are a couple of wounded souls_. . . T’Lal thought, then said to her niece, (Were you able to pick up on anything from their side?)

(No, Ma’am. Sarek established the meld so he could use me as a map to Spock’s consciousness. He didn’t bring our minds together and combine abilities.) Mollie kept thinking of what the ambassador’s diagnostic imaging would show. He had a repaired Chiari injury that had undoubtedly left him in the kind of physical pain that would shatter a weaker man. It rarely bothered him now, but when it chose to act up, it could fell him. He’d recovered from subdural hemorrhages, the coordinated swelling of the brain as induced by such trauma, and continued to deal with the irregular inner surface of his skull. (What happened to him? This has adversely affected his whole life.)

T’Lal, reticent, decided it was for the best to share some details with Mollie. (My father, that is what happened to Sarek.)

(I’d say that was crazy, but I know what your father did to you.) Mollie let the answers to a lifetime of wondering start to spin open.

(Sarek was willing to lay down his life to save his toddler cousin.) T’Lal said. (If not for him, my father would have succeeded in murdering me when I was three-years-old.)

(His injuries, they should have been fatal.)

(They would have been at the time they were inflicted if T’Lessa had not chosen to help him.) She continued. (That Sarek is a distant and difficult man is not entirely of his own design. Between his medical issues and our clandestine activities, you do understand why he made some very difficult decisions in regard to his son?)

(Yes, Ma’am.) Mollie could barely wrap her head around these ground-shattering revelations.

(Know this too, Mallia.) T’Lal rarely addressed her niece by her legal name. The formal moniker was reserved for matters of great seriousness. (Should he outlive his cardiac issues and our dangerous side-work, Sarek’s head trauma will eventually rob him of his emotional controls and cognitive functions, thus, it will still kill him.)

(I’m grateful for the insight into the Ambassador’s condition.) Mollie was curious about the details of the murder attempt that saw her great-uncle exiled from Vulcan. However, she was going to wait until that information was granted to her if it ever was. (I also swear that unless Sarek gives me direct permission, I won’t share this with Spock. They need to figure that one out on their own.)

  
  
  
_Seeing as you lads work well together_. . . That’s what Mr. Scott had said when he’d pulled Avery and Biltmore off to the side to scour procurement directories, maintenance pulls, inventories, work orders, and assorted files and databases for the phantom circuit relay thief.

 _Your attention to detail is what we need in the computer hunt, lads. I’ve got the other fellas on the practical search for a reason_. . . Alton knew a massive compliment when he heard it. That he and Vince were held in that regard was a good sign.

“I hope we don’t screw this up.” Biltmore keyed into the departmental directories that would take him to the original requests for repairs as sent in by individual officers.

“Say that and we’ll ham-fist it.” This change of pace would keep them on guard and Scotty knew he could trust them. They were at their terminals for about an hour when Avery addressed his friend. “You know who has screwed up, and accessed the kitchen work orders, item six, and take a look at that name.”

“You’re onto something so soon?”

“Don’t know for sure, but I’d call this suspicious.” Avery called up a search function and plugged the name into that, interested in seeing what showed up.

Biltmore whistled. “As Billy the Sixth says, 'Oh my giddy Aunt,'.”

“And this personal login, it’s coming up in all kinds of strange places, barbershop, cold storage, men’s changing room for the science-ologies, pantry, NCO laundry, what the hell?”

“He can’t be the only one, so let’s figure out who he’s working with.” Biltmore created a search for that officer and any listing where he was mentioned in conjunction with Kevin Radovitch or any other person that showed up more than once. “I don’t think we can be this lucky, you know?”

“Mr. Scott will get this guy to squeal on all the other little beavers working to fuck up our dam.” Avery went to the next screen. “What a shit head.”

Biltmore chuckled. “ _Lt. Jon Chavez, you’re fucked_.”


	136. Chapter 136

High above Pezig’s Gate, this world looked like any number of Class M marbles McCoy had seen. At this vantage, it pretended like it was a haven of tranquility, an exhilarating high-stakes gambling mecca, whistle-stop for the filthy rich, and purveyor of hedonistic bliss, all of it leading to happy customers and a healthy bottom line. O’Dell, the kid on the comm station was increasing the frequency of times he said _casino ad_ with every minute USS Dragon got closer to her slip assignment.

Ever practical, Kuznetsov ordered Sulu to take them on a tour of Dock 5. This was the largest facility in orbit. Where was MV Sweetness? Their program calling out all ships that were close to the one they were looking for worked like a champ. It just hadn’t seen the right hull yet.

“What’s the sneer for?” Jim asked. “Are we doing something that’s annoying you?”

“Not you. . .”

“Maybe you should head down to sick bay and Dr. Abbott can distract you from all of this boring stuff. We’ll let you know when we need you back here on the bridge.” His friend made a suggestion that any other time was worth contemplating.

“It’s—” What would he call this? He wasn’t annoyed, wasn’t angry, the best description that presented from the halls of his mind was that he was feeling like an imposter. “I’m not sure, Jim, if this is where I’m needed.”

His friend didn’t act like he thought the doctor was spewing bullshit all over the bridge. “I wish there was something else I could offer you, Bones. Unless you were going to fly down there with one of the shuttles that jumped off this morning, you’ll just have to make do with what you’ve got here.”

“You don’t really think that’s good enough, do you?” McCoy’s serious line of thought set fire to another pile of worries in. “Because I don’t.”

“They said we weren’t to follow them into the backcountry. We both got the same grisly warnings. Doom, gloom, dismemberment?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He said that to placate Kirk and keep his new intentions hidden. “I think I will go rattle Jason Abbott’s cage.”

“You can finish telling him the bachelor auction story.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do.” McCoy gave his regards to the expanded bridge crew and boarded the lift. Doors closed, he directed it to take him to sick bay. Once at that destination, the portal opened to let him off and he told the computer to take him back to Transporter Room 1 instead.

With all of Enterprise’s hitchhikers aboard, the transporter techs had bugged off to somewhere they were more needed. The small amount of equipment they’d brought over hadn’t yet been shuffled out to the places it was supposed to go, Dragon being so low on personnel, that McCoy helped himself to a tricorder, a hand phaser, his medkit, and the control board for his least favorite piece of technology to have come about in the last five hundred years of human history.

“Here goes.” He arranged himself on the transporter pad. He’d only given himself a five-second lead-in to jump aboard the molecule rearrangement train or bag the whole thing. No time to pussyfoot, the light-show took him away.

  
  
  
Hoskins stepped onto the bridge and killed the mood faster than a tsunami rolling over a lit candelabra. A quick check to his memory and this was the fourth time he’d been down here on his entire tenure aboard MV Sweetness. Confused faces, head-scratching, no one there was having a heart attack so they couldn’t come up with a reason for him to report to their realm. “Lt. Ryan, a word?”

Morgana agreed and they sequestered from the gossipy ninnies who’d stared him down like he’d walked in with his dick hanging out. They stepped into a space that was generously referred to as an executive conference room on Sweetness’ blueprints. It was more like Hoskins’ office, a closet with a desk crammed into it. “What is your word, Dr. Hoskins?”

“First, never send a moronic boy to do a man’s work.” The plan had gone fairly well until Silvio succumbed to the one-two of egotism and idiocy.

“What did he fuck up this time?”

“He forgot to buy the batteries for the medscanner I sent down.”

Morgana’s face met her palm. “Naturally.”

“And, you know how it goes: if you want something done right, you’ve got to fucking do it yourself. To do that, I’ll need your override to use the transporter and get this shit done fast.” Hoskins had long known that just because someone was a good lay didn’t mean they were much good at anything else.

“Your opinion’s changed? Is there a chance that you might be able to save her if you get this scanner working?” She wanted a miracle to come from somewhere.

“I don’t know, not until I get that data. If I can’t help her with whatever’s ravaging her, I want to make sure she’s comfortable for the end.” He wanted to bypass customs and the crowds who’d be waiting to take mass transit and descend from the stratosphere. Small, isolated, places like Pezig’s Gate tended not to have transporters available for the general public’s use. They couldn’t afford the lawsuits if something went wrong, the equipment required a massive investment upfront and the specialized personnel to operate and maintain the machines weren’t cheap either. Now, cargo, that was a different story, and those transporters weren’t always finessed enough to move people or other living tissues.

“Go get your working medscanner and any other little goodies you might need. I’ll meet you in Bay 1 and start recalibrating for safely getting you down and back.” Morgana skirted around the edge of the too big desk. “There’s one other thing, Dr. Hoskins.”

“Hmmm?” He tried to guess what she was up to and couldn’t have been more wrong if he tried.

“I know how hard it is for you to leave the ship.” She didn’t come anything close to patronizing with that comment.

Still needing to defend his usual position, he said, “I’m a homebody is all.”

“My mother was severely agoraphobic. She spent the last nine years of her life holed up in a bedroom. . .”

“That’s,” Hoskins felt autonomic nervous responses starting to drive bile up his gorge, “that’s a shitty thing for your mom to have gone through.”

“I think you’re doing the right thing, Doctor. Overriding that hardwired fear and the misanthropy you experience, that takes bigger balls than that tit Silvio will ever have.”

“What about my reputation for refusing to make house-calls?” He was one step behind her as they began a walk to sick bay before they hit the transporter. For some mysterious reason, she stuck with him and kept speaking to him like he was a semblance of a real person. How fucking strange was that?

“As for the house-call thing?” She picked up his earlier rhetorical question. “The scientist and clinician in you is being driven batshit crazy by the captain’s illness. Part of you really wants your hands to get dirty.”

 _Well_ , Hoskins thought, _I won’t try to argue against that_.

  
  
  
(Spock?) Mollie felt like she was trying to speak while her mouth was crammed with marshmallows. She had to talk around T’Lal’s multilayer psionic shout-out. (We can’t find you.)

(This conversation should not be taking place.) Fatigue and confusion cluttered up his end of the link. (Tralnor blocked you out.)

(You and I have spent so much time in one another’s heads that the pathways between us are well-worn grooves. T’Lal followed them and brought me through.)

(You are worried for me.) He always had a difficult time processing the concern of others on his behalf. (Do not be.)

(I’m not going to ask why you left the storefront. I don’t care, those details don’t matter.) Her energy ebbing, she quit with the preliminaries. (Sohja is following one of MV Sweetness’ goons to Laura’s hideaway. He’s armed and if he’s half as dangerous as Laura is—)

(Two shuttles.) Spock said. (Laura’s position must be between Tralnor and I and where we saw those craft touch down.)

Her brain picked up the scent of the damp forest as Spock inhaled, employing a breathing exercise to help him concentrate on keeping Mollie unaware of his location. Like her brother, he was trying to protect her. (Stay in the city, Mallia. If we are able, we will reconnect with your party later.)

Like Sarek and T’Lal, he only called her by her given name when they were engaged in the most profound telepathic interfusions. (Please, Spock, tell us where you are.)

The view through his eyes went black as he closed the lids against the landscape. (I cannot.)

(I would—) Mollie gasped for air, flailing backward to the floor. Winded and reeling, she warded off any would-be helpers. Once she’d regained the ability to speak, she chastised her brother. “Captain Chaos might be a funny name if it weren’t so true. That rotten little fungus, _he turfed us_!”

“T’Lal, you know where they are?” Sarek offered an arm to aid Mollie to her feet.

“I did not get that information.” The pilot’s reply wasn’t the final word on the matter. “However, Spock’s subconscious desire to please Mollie showed me how to get there.”

  
  
  
“I don’t care how long it takes, lock-on, and beam him the hell out of there.” Captain Kirk was only a few shades short of livid. When Lt. O’Dell confirmed Cosgriff’s claim of an unauthorized transport to the surface, the only person it could possibly have been was Bones.

“We’re trying, Sir.” The poor enlisted slobs who’d left the equipment unattended sounded like they’d already kissed their careers goodbye.

“Captains, we’ve had another beam-down to the same general locality as Wild West Show’s shuttle.” Cosgriff reported. “Crewman Meadows, I want you to try and backtrace this mystery guy. I’ve got Ensign Checkov to help in the hunt for Enterprise’s enterprising CMO.”

“If you find McCoy, you’re not going to get him out the same way he went down.” Billie relayed what the science board told her. “Human life signs, I’ve picked them up here.”

Kirk looked at the main viewer, wondering what the sensor data was trying to say. “He’s still in range.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She sent the first one, then a second overlay, both showing some sort of geological features. “The upper right quadrant, that’s geothermal and it’s got a bit of a kick to the teeth: It puts out some stupendous amounts of energy that overwhelm the transporters on these patrol boats. They don’t have to use them the same way we do ours, so they’re not as powerful and not as sophisticated.”

“What of the second layer you added to the screen?” Kuznetsov knew Billie wasn’t trash-talking Dragon, but she still didn’t like this other captain’s assessment of her ship.

“Wyantium.” Billie said.

“It’s real, this metal?” Kuznetsov might well have had the tooth fairy alight on her hand. “It’s not an old wive’s tale?”

“I ran the analysis three different ways and got the same answer each time.” Captain Cody sent the results to the main viewer for everyone to see. “There it is in black and white.”

“Billie and I are beaming down.” Kirk said. “We’ll round up all our little doggies and fly those shuttles out. You keep working on shaking Captain Hillyard from the shadows.”

  
  
  
“I wish to hell I knew where I was going.” McCoy thumped his tricorder with the meat of his palm. “Damned thing’s on the fritz.”

He’d come to the surface in the one place he’d gotten a coordinate fix. Not being the most adroit transporter operator, he copied something he’d seen the likes of Scotty and Spock pull off. It wasn’t one of the tried-and-true techniques espoused by Starfleet, but real-world situations were light years away from the simulations the good little lab bunnies ran back in California. The trick was not to start with a coordinate in mind, no going straight to a landing party as picked up on sensor sweeps, bypass so-called safeguards and bombard an area no more than twenty-five kilometers square with a scan searching for what was referred to as “like” technology. He knew that Sohja had fluttered down in Praxidike. Where he found Buffalo Bill’s shuttle, he was sure to catch up with her sultry Vulcan friend.

A few minutes wandering to get his bearings and he found the shuttle, buttoned up like a beach hut readied for the winter season. There, he thought he saw humanoid footprints, most likely those of a woman, leading away from the craft. Gingerly, he picked up her trail and followed into the forest.

“Everyone needs a good doctor.” He stayed on the same path, glad for once that he’d joined in on enough landing parties that the landscape was neither new nor terribly challenging to cover. Where he thought he might catch up to Sohja, he stumbled on another vehicle instead. Someone from outside the rank and file of Sarek and T’Lal’s spook-world had dropped in and because he was something of a realist, it wasn’t too far-fetched to assume that the person belonging to the rental shuttle wasn’t here to help in the mysterious whatever all these crazy Vulcans were drawn into.

Through windows, he saw the cartons and containers that once held medical supplies. Someone else had descended from on high to address Laura’s illness. Did that mean there were other members of MV Sweetness’ crew lurking in the shadows? He unholstered his communicator, flipped it open, and got that unnerving crackle that emanated when the devices were ready to go tits up. Not accepting defeat at the hands of these tools, McCoy stayed on Sohja’s heels.

He tried to concentrate on just getting down the slope and finding these very unfortunate patients of his. Bring her in alive, the thought pulsed through his head with the thud of each heartbeat. “I don’t know about the cowboy medics of the criminal underworld, I can’t trust them. Plus, what is a human supremacist going to know about treating Vulcans? I’ve got to get to that kid.”

Done stating his intentions to the indifferent universe, he thought he heard something in the not too far off distance, McCoy asked the same void, “Animal, Mineral, or Vegetable?”

He didn’t get an answer per-say, just someone much closer that he’d not seen or heard wrapping their strong hands around his neck, silently promising to break his cervical vertebrae if he fought back, and cramming a wad of textile into his mouth. This unknown person efficiently hauled him off into the pines.


	137. Chapter 137

Convinced he was punching his ticket for the afterlife, McCoy caved to instinct and tried to thwart the diamond-stealing pirate out to kill him. The struggle was brief, hampered by his inability to pry loose the limbs dragging him off the barely-there path. He stared up into the canopy, grey and rain supplanted by blobs of shadowy darkness and it almost didn’t register that he was going to hit the ground.

How long was he dead before he realized hell was cold and wet? Had it been a sunny day, the person looming over him would have cast him in shadow. The lack of glare let him gather more details about his captor than in another situation. Tactical boots, the nice lightweight ones that offered more protection than the traditional model, were the first things he could get his eyes to focus on. It was what came up out of those boots that terrified him. He was in trouble and then some.

  
  
  
“He hates these things.” Kirk tried to patch through a workaround to Bones’ shenanigans and got routed again. “I swear, he thinks transporters work because someone, somewhere, is sacrificing a chicken to the gods of conveyance at the exact moment magic fairy dust is needed to sweep us away in a band of light.”

“During normal times, I’ve got two boffins who could kick this. Naturally, they’re out of commission for at least the next six weeks thanks to that beast, Hillyard.” Commander Cosgriff threw a yellow rocker switch in a fruitless attempt and getting the system to reboot. “On ships this size, you’ve got to be a bit of a Jack of All Trades, but keeping tabs on the Romulans is my specialty. I’m constantly busy taking those observations and developing new predictive algorithms to tell us where those rats are going to materialize. This sort of stuff, troubleshooting transporters and the like, is not my strength.”

“It’s not mine either.” It was so strange to hear a high-ranking officer say something in that regard. Jim knew too many who’d try to bluster their way through this task because they refused to show anything that could be construed as weakness.

“I ran the transporter log past my engineers right as I was on my way down here to try and see what was really going on. Esper and his gal Klaus, they say that this bandit jump your CMO made shouldn’t have locked up the entire system and forced the hardware offline.” Cosgriff’s frustration showed where the crow's feet bunched around his eyes.

 _Shit_ , Kirk thought, _both the transporters are essentially dead_! He had a question for Billie, but she was in the next compartment trying to get a quick sketch of Pezig’s Gate’s wyantium deposits for Kuznetsov. “I’m going to get ahold of Scotty and Mr. Q’pik. If ever there were two people in the universe who could solve this, they’ll nail it.”

“So long as someone does. I’ve been utterly outmaneuvered.” In a call to the bridge, Cosgriff explained Dr. FUBAR’s spectacular ruination of this vital equipment.

Kirk was asked his opinion on McCoy’s intent. Kuznetsov didn’t want to see the doctor in a position where he’d be prosecuted for this dumb move. “I know Bones better than just about anyone and can certify that he didn’t want to leave things like this. Besides, he doesn’t know enough to have made this happen on purpose.”

That vouch for Bones went a long way with Dragon’s captain. She let the transporter room go, giving a five-second or so gap before Lt. O’Dell paged and patched them through to Enterprise.

“What’s this about Dr. McCoy, Sir?” The sound of Scotty’s voice was nothing short of pure comfort.

  
  
  
Laura tried and failed at eating some lunch. While Silvio greedily shoveled all the food he could find down his neck, Veddah helped to get her cleaned up, again. “For the rest of the day, I’m just sticking to coffee.”

Veddah got her on her feet and was removing her shirt when he saw something that he interpreted as another poor indicator of her health. He lobbed the vomit-stained garment into the fire and picked through Silvio’s delivery. Laura accepted the box of tampons, not needing to look at her chair to know why he handed them to her.

“You are coming apart at the fucking seams.” Silvio projected his unwelcome comment. “Why do you force yourself to suffer the indignities of bleeding? You’re a starship captain, not a medieval peasant. Modern medicine can— _What the fuck is that_?”

The cobalt blue light was back, taking its time to let the people at the camp know that it was there, no one was seeing things.

“Hey, you!” Silvio snapped his fingers and gave Veddah the finger. “Peter Pan, tell this thing you summoned to leave me the hell alone.”

Ignoring the demand, Veddah kept his focus on his wife, aiding her locomotion toward the facilities until such a point that he could let her go and return to Silvio. Laura once referred to this man as a petulant toddler throwing a fit because the chicken nuggets he wanted were shaped like balloons instead of dinosaurs.

The human swatted at the empyrean presence. “Stop your stupid telepathic trick, Vulcan, and call off your hallucination.”

So used to this entity was Veddah that he didn’t pay it much attention and had stopped trying to communicate with it. He didn’t know if it was the perimortem psychic imprint of a dead prisoner, an alien life form, or a shared delusion. “It is not mine to call off, Mr. Mazzi.”

“You know what I’m still having such a hard time trying to figure out?”

“I decline to speculate.”

“ _I decline to speculate_.” Silvio mocked, his voice sounding cartoonish. “You’re a prissy twat. What the hell have you got on Laura that she’s heading up your cause? What makes a bold, independent woman like her leave a man so she can go chasing rainbows with a pathetic, useless boy?”

Blue faded and not wanting to draw wild animals, Veddah went around Silvio’s chair, collecting the rubbish as strewn by this unexpected guest. Like many things today, he disposed of what he could in the fire and returned everything else lunch-related to the back of the car. In his last in-person contact with this man, Veddah consciously had to think and act in ways that kept him from knocking the human’s teeth down his throat.

“Chocolate and roses? Recitation of love sonnets? Answer me, miscreant.” Silvio hocked a blob of mucus at Veddah’s feet.

 _Do not say anything and this will erupt into a fracas_ , Veddah thought. _Do say something and risk Silvio disliking the reply enough to want a fight, which of these offers the more peaceful resolution_? “I do not know.”

“Proof right there that Vulcans are the shittiest liars in the whole quadrant. I’ve said it before, she’s not keeping you chained to the bed—”

That specific description sent the traumatized part of his mind into overdrive, spraying the inside of his skull with the sights and sensations of rape. The mean glint in the human’s eye told Veddah that PTSD trigger phrase was selected on purpose. “She does not need to keep me chained to anything. I have a Sentinel in my left temple. Such threat of death keeps me highly motivated to curry her favor.”

“It’s not because you’re a good lay.” The same lazy talking points always seemed to delight Silvio’s simple thought patterns. “You’re probably like fucking a simpering child. Does she still make you cry?”

“Oh, I make him cry, cry out in ecstasy.” Laura shambled to her chair, clearly propped up by the pharmaceuticals. “I get him screaming in delight, rewarding his performance in our mutual pleasure.”

“Disgusting.”

“He’s the best I’ve ever had and is only getting better.” A slight shake of her head showed that she still thought Silvio was a sad example of humanity. “How much longer do I have to look at you before you slink off somewhere else?”

“I loved you, Laura.” Seemingly more hurt than angry, Silvio didn’t go off on one of his rages.

“It’s a bit late to start making such bold statements in your perpetual campaign of covering your ass.” (I wish he’d get the fuck out of here.)

(I believe he is waiting on the power cells for the med scanner. Only when those arrive will he consider departing.) Veddah kept with the busywork of tidying and organizing, needing the distraction to not bite back at the next deliberately inflammatory comment. (We have not heard from Dr. Hoskins about said cells either.)

“Goddamnit. I know I’ve lied about a lot of things, but that is the honest fucking truth. I’ve dreamed about us you know. . .”

“Funny, you never showed how you felt, and let me repeat this again while I’m actually hypoxic—”

“You’re what?” He said. “That’s not a real word.”

“I’m blue in the face, Silvio. Lack of oxygen?”

“But this is a Mammal Class planet or whatever the fuck they’re called. Me and the fuck doll can breathe just fine.” Curling the left side of his lip, he said, “When I find out what you did to her, how you did it, I’m not just going to cut your dick off, I’m going to feed it to you.”

  
  
  
Their C and C contact thanked the Starfleet captains for the influx of customers before Kuznetsov could ask about alternative methods of reaching the backcountry from Dock Five. With the transporters diagnosed by Mr. Scott as _borked beyond recognition_ until a complete overhaul of all the equipment and the computers that made them work, the only other ways off the ship were the emergency life pods and the single tiny shuttle reserved for the command staff and any VIPs they might need to ferry around.

“Now, I see where USS Dragon is registered for the next forty-eight hours. Captain Kuznetsov, how many party busses do you need to make sure all of your sailors have a fun little shore-leave?”

“We do not require party busses. However, use of a shuttle so Captains Kirk and Cody can retrieve their officers would be a better use of your resources.”

“Okay.” Not too disappointed that he’d missed out on another three-dozen or so gamblers and buffet diners, he asked his computers something, read some text, and nodded when he got to the solution to this request. “Because of the layout of Dock Five and the configuration of the Cydonia Class patrol ship’s shuttle bay, I’m reassigning you to a new slip, Dock Six, AJP 14-2.”

Communication terminated, Billie reclaimed the science station. “You know, I’m thinking maybe these guys have something with this customer service approach. I’d consider taking my next vacation here.”

“Let’s plan on it, assuming they’ll have us back when the Vulcans are done being crazy all over the place.” Kirk needed a dash of humor to settle his stomach. “You can’t take them anywhere. . . It’s a joke, Mr. Seltun. Sorry if it rubbed you the wrong way.”

“I am not offended, Sir.” The Krampus seemed to have mellowed in the aftermath of Melbek III and Sarah David. Kirk was happy for the kid. “I have been thinking about the wyantium deposits and I do not believe that they are in close enough proximity to where Dr. McCoy should have rematerialized to interfere with a lock on. Captain Cody’s sensor data as seen on the main viewer contrasted with the description of McCoy’s method of deploying the transporter suggests to me that a detailed scan for humanoid life forms in the neutral ground between the hot springs and interfering metal ore will yield a more accurate location where he may have set down.”

“I’m going to defer to the geologist on this one, Jimmy.” Buffalo Bill faced back into her console and started the scan.

The Dragon began her short journey over to the next docking facility. Jim was glad that Seltun hadn’t done what a lot of juniors might have when faced with three captains in one room and keep to himself. Setting up a more accurate landing zone could potentially save hours and lives.

“Here’s what I’ve got: Six Vulcans, six humans, and one somewhere in-between. I can tell you with absolute conviction that the person coming up as not one or the other is Mollie. _Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Be Born on T’Khasi_.”

“There should be seven Vulcans.” Kirk’s adrenal glands slammed his body with an instant, encompassing fear that the worst had happened. “There should be seven. . .”

Softly, Billie said, “I’m only picking up six.”

  
  
  
“Mr. Mazzi, what did I tell you about antagonizing young Tasty Snatch? You can’t win in a scrum with him.” Hoskins entered the camp as Veddah, hand beneath the irritating human’s chin, hoisted him off the ground. The distraction the vet provided gave the Vulcan a fraction of a second to back down. Silvio plopped to the floor, a deadweight of stupidity impacting rock.

“Fucking maniac.” Silvio made another verbal swipe.

Laura let Hoskins have a feeble wave. “The gist of it is Silvio stated that while I’m a whore, I did not in fact commit forcible rape because as a male Veddah wanted what I did to him.”

“There isn’t a man alive, except for this weeping little bitch, who’d turn down a fuck from you. That shows me that he’s weak! Laura, I will have you—”

Veddah started for Silvio. “ _Do you have a death-wish_?”

“No, I’ve got an achy cock that I can’t wait to get back inside her.” Silvio leered, baiting the stronger, faster Vulcan.

Fists formed, Hoskins leveled a hand phaser that he’d kept tucked into his waistband. “Mr. Mazzi, if you value your life, you’ll sit your ass down right now. Veddah, go be with your wwwah—Fuck!”

Laura reacted to that partial directive. (Veddah? What’s Hoskins implying?)

Silvio played along and Veddah stood behind Laura’s chair and rested one hand on her shoulder. (He is a very observant man.)

(Woman or wife? Which is it?) She reached up and grasped Veddah’s fingers.

(He confronted me during one of our calls when you were asleep.)

Nearly seeing stars at this bombshell, Laura thought of how Hoskins had never bought into the AVDL party line. She’d found him whilst scouring the underworld for a competent physician for MV Sweetness. He needed a job and she needed a doctor. That he was a veterinarian with a revoked license didn’t matter. She’d taken a chance on him when no one else would. Had that secured his loyalty in this matter? (How long ago did he figure out that we were married?)

(He told me that he has known since before we made port at Trego Delta. . .) Veddah twitched as he choked back his fervor.

“It’s like you want to die at the hands of this kid before you and me get another night of unabashed pleasure.” Hoskins let Silvio have a cold smile. “Don’t rob us both of another wonderful evening.”

“Fine, I’ll shut up.” Butt parked and leaning onto one cheek, Silvio went for one last dig. “But I won’t change my mind about that prissy bastard.”

Hoskins extricated a rechargeable battery from his rucksack, slapped it into the previously non-functional med scanner, and started checking Laura over. A whisper, “ _I didn’t mean to spill your secret_.”

“I do not believe you said enough for him to figure it out.” Veddah and the doctor exchanged concerned glances.

A rapid manual examination with Hoskins touching her body, looking in eyes, ears, her mouth, he became more determined in his search for what put her down. When the scanner, now fully booted and set to the proper rubric for a human female, started its readout, the doctor did not like what he was seeing.

“Don’t tell me that thing is fucked up and you’re going to want me to pee all over my hands again.” Laura thought she might have gotten a snide comment, but Hoskins said nothing. “So, is the box saying that I’m pregnant?”

“No.” He adjusted some knobs and turned a dial, recalibrating for something, and buzzed her again. “Nothing is coming back positive in that regard. I’ve got some sensitive questions for you and Veddah, Captain.”

The clammy nervousness Hoskins radiated every time he left the safe confines of Sweetness’ hull leveled up. He wasn’t snide, wasn’t hostile, and showed a deep reluctance to seek these answers. “To find the zebra I’m after, Laura, Veddah, I’m sorry I’ve got to do this to you. I need to ask you about your relationship and you’ve got to be open about it.”


	138. Chapter 138

“Tralnor, you believe our location has been disclosed?”

“I don’t believe, I know.”

Spock felt as his friend’s fingers left his skin. “It is my fault we have been compromised.”

“T’Lal was on the other end of that meld, Spock. You didn’t stand a chance of keeping her out.”

“Do not coddle me. I am not seeking absolution for my mistakes.” They were making forward progress again. “I should not have answered Mollie.”

“You didn’t have a choice.” Tralnor slowed to check their heading but did not stop as they reemerged onto the footpath. “My mother knows just how to entice someone’s subconscious brain into letting her in. In this case, Mollie was the key, and T’Lal exploited that relationship. It’s one of the traits selected for in the Lyr Saan.”

It was like he was smothering on his own mind as it fell out of suspension and became so much silt. Spock had known from the first read-through of T’Pau’s initial letter that he was not the person to accomplish the assigned task. This was not the only time he questioned if she sent him on this scavenger hunt as an acceptable way of cutting the rot out of her family?

“And even without that built-in slave attribute, you still wouldn’t have stood a chance. My mother is a strong psion and that’s not really why she got you. She’s been taught how to perform a wide spread of tricks and shortcuts by my father.”

“Justin’s tricks as you call them are numerous.” Spock felt less fobbed off and more grounded at the reminder about Tralnor’s parents.

Tralnor pointed to the southwest of their place on the hillside. “I smell smoke.”

  
  
  
“Explain that second scan to me again.” Kirk hadn’t believed it the first time Billie relayed her findings. When she’d re-run her assessment to capture more recent numbers, there were humans, Vulcans, and Mollie plus some other odd reading. Someone vacillating between reading as exclusively human and entirely unadulterated Vulcan. He’d not shaken the fact that there should have been seven Vulcans in the backcountry and had her take another run at it.

“It was weird, Jimmy. I’ve seen minor fluctuations in life-form readings before, but nothing that conflates two different species like that.” She settled into the lift with him for the short ride down to Dragon’s shuttle bay. “Yeah, we’re on a patrol boat that isn’t doing any exploring new worlds, but their sensor pack should not be fucking up like that.”

Kirk chose to find a bright side in this: there was no real count on the number of humans, but there was still a possibility seven Vulcans were alive and hopefully well.

  
  
  
“What are you so fucking nervous about, Hoskins?” Silvio yapped. “Is the great outdoors getting to you? Big sky, huge open spaces, is it making you a little, I don’t know, _phobic_?”

Continuing to speak in lowered tones, Hoskins gave a brief description of what was coming. “I know probably less than nothing about psionic bonding and the scant information I have found doesn’t answer any of my questions regarding the both of you. Based on what this thing has told me, I have two ways of reacting: first, Veddah, you have such a great influence on her that your imprint has altered her metabolism, body chemistry, and things like that. The second is that this indispensable little toy the civilian medical world relies on like one of their own limbs is wrong.”

“Both sound reasonable to me.” Laura didn’t know what else she could offer on the matter. Her understanding of Vulcan marriages wasn’t much more detailed than Hoskins’. “I’m inclined to go with option one. We didn’t do this with a Healer making sure it all went the right way.”

His ass too tender to stay down in a chair for long, Silvio got up and wandered. “You’re looking scared, Vulcan. Just cop to what you did to her and Doc will patch her up.”

“Our matrimonial entanglement was not planned.” Veddah kept a weary watch. “I do not know if I set the bond in all the correct places at the right potency. I was—”

She coughed, the further lack of oxygen making her see orbs of light. It took Hoskins hitting her with a hypo of some compound, maybe a tri-ox, to allow her body to more readily utilize her lowered lung capacity. He’d not mentioned a blood clot on one side, Perhaps she was fortuitous enough to only have pneumonia?

“If this was an impromptu marriage, what was the deciding factor that made you go through with it? I need to understand as much as possible.” He stuffed the med scanner into his bag. “The select blurbs I’ve read on the subject makes this sound like it’s a complex and invasive thing that can’t be done on the fly.”

“An apple a day, Doc?” Silvio harped as he wandered off toward the mouth of the cave. Too soon, he was on prowl to shower more insults and he wanted to be in their faces as much as possible. He was such a child.

“He outmaneuvered me.” Laura issued a wicked smile that said she admired Veddah for what he’d done. “He had the balls to try his luck against someone who’d hurt him terribly and could kill him without thinking. He did what he had to do and I am a champion of that school of thought.”

Silvio encroached and the first thing that popped into Laura’s mind was, _Mom, he’s touching me_! _Mom, he’s looking at me_! He was a spoiled brat living in the body of a grown man, and like an immature adolescent, he refused to accept that she’d had her fill of him, his pissy attitude, and whinging. She made eye contact, and he tried to express this love he’d expounded but came off as the jealous dick he really was.

“And the reason Veddah pushed through with the tel-tor is that it completed the circuit.” She’d captured Silvio’s full attention now. “It happened when I was distracted, while we were _making love_ for the first time.”

 _Fuck you, Greenie_ , Silvio mouthed to his perceived usurper. “Making love? Ugh, Laura, how can you say something so vile?”

Hoskins went for the next question. “What is this circuit you referred to?”

“We have a dead man’s switch suicide pact. I hit him with the Sentinel, he dies and takes me out with him. Maybe he breaks my neck like he was doing to Silvio earlier? I die and I won’t be going alone.” She held the back of Veddah’s hand against her cheek.

Blinking back out of shock, Hoskins caught his head where it threatened to spin off the top of his neck, and restructured the following call for information. “Is that the standard, Veddah? Is that how it goes when you become an adult and take the formal vows?”

“That is not typical, no.” Veddah said. “It was my only avenue of self-preservation at that juncture.”

“Is it reversible?”

Laura didn’t know what to say. She knew how she felt about this marriage and that it was pure fantasy that she'd get to stay in this relationship. Veddah kept any thoughts on the matter to himself.

“Don’t start talking over one another.” Silvio wedged his ugly presence into the center of this medical Q and A. “And you might want to remember something, Laura.”

“Something life-shattering?” Tempted to steal Hoskins’ phaser and vaporize Silvio, she decided to conserve her energy. “Something about how if your daddy wasn’t one of the single most generous donors to the AVDL’s coffers that you’d be drawing caricatures of tourists at some second-rate, second-choice, shithole like Pezig’s Gate?”

“I know you’re trying to be funny.” He pointed at Veddah, emphasizing the younger man before the verbal idiocy picked up. “Remember this, when the novelty of fucking your silly little boy wears off, that you’re going to come back to me. I’m human, not some green-blooded alien freak.”

“Whatever makes you feel better and shuts you the fuck up, go ahead and believe it.” What was she going to do with this guy? She could lure him into the fragile goods bay and shoot him with the Walther.

“Why does a pillar of the AVDL decide to get so chummy with something from an inferior species? I can see fucking him that once, make your little porno, and move on, but to have this long, drawn-out, _neh-neh-neh _, pretending to be married bullshit, I think you’ve lost your mind.” Silvio gave an exaggerated sigh.__

____

____

Hoskins used the break in the ranting to speak. “Give me your best guess. Is it reversible?”

“Is what reversible, Doc? The dick poisoning she’s getting from that twat?”

She was going to have to shoot him or chemically wipe today from Silvio’s mind. Hoskins needed more detail since he was the only medical help she had right now. “It should be, but by the sounds of what Veddah has explained, it’s going to take a five-star neuropsionic healer to untangle us.”

“That’s something to research, where we can find such a practitioner. I’m in over my head on these things. I’ve never treated a human telepath let alone a Vulcan.” A tiny torch removed from a pocket was soon used so Hoskins could take a closer look in her eyes. “Whatever you’ve got, it’s discoloring your sclera, and that’s an indicator of hepatic failure.”

  
  
  
Joe let the girls work out how best to get to Spock and Tralnor . Overland, in by air, or down into the badger’s den, Joe didn’t have an opinion and didn’t think he had anything to contribute, so out to the porch he went. All the rain, days and days spent on starships, he was missing California. He thought about what he might be doing on a normal day right about now, had to think too hard on just what day it was, and pictured his schedule. A morning of production meetings, more color-timing Celluloid Vokaya, a session where his personal trainer would kick his ass, and he was supposed to have dinner with a guy he’d collaborated on a couple of projects with. “What a movie this would make.”

He wasn’t left on his own for long as Sarek joined him. Maybe maps weren’t the ambassador’s cup of tea. “Mr. Bergman, you would do well to come back inside. As my wife would say, you will catch your death from the cold.”

“I’m not going to melt and leave nothing behind but my shoes if I get wet.” He didn’t know if the Vulcan would get the film reference or not, but it hardly mattered. “You know, thanks to this thing we’ve got strung between us, I was party to some, I’ll call it states of mind when you went through Mollie to find your son.”

“That can be the nature of a sustained meld, even if it is not very deep.” Sarek moved to hold his hands in front of his body. “I apologize.”

“When we were talking while T’Lal made contact, I was trying to think of how to say this. I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t need to couch things in comfortable terms.” Joe placed himself so he had a shoulder to the street and Sarek’s full attention. “Spock doesn’t hate you, he doesn’t understand you, but he doesn’t hate you.”

“A kind but unnecessary gesture, Mr. Bergman.”

“Don’t you think it’s time to let him in on why you couldn’t be like other fathers?” Joe had to say this before they all went up in a mushroom cloud. Thinking he’d be told to sod off, Sarek surprised him.

“What do you know?” No irritation in his voice or stance, the older man prompted Joe again.

“First, you’ve really only got to tell him half of that why. He learned about your amateur archaeology missions years ago and understands why you’d keep a child out of those messes.”

. . . _all for nothing_. . . That thought strayed across their link.

“So, remember when I said I studied you to prepare for that part? I noticed a few things that I don’t think most folks would catch. You know how I said my mom was a quad and lived in a very nice, privately run, convalescent home?” His mother had been treated well, but he was glad she no longer had to suffer.

“That I do recall.”

“I did everything I could to make sure I got to see her on Sunday afternoons. I spent a lot of time at the facility and met some interesting people. . . Sir, when you tilt your head back a few degrees and morons take that as you staring down your nose at them, you’re trying to equalize the pressure from your CSF that’s started to bottleneck because your BioLite shunt’s little turbinate flaps aren’t opening like they should. Lean back and gravity tends to take care of things.”

Wistful affect not seen on his face, Sarek let Joe talk.

“BioLites, since they’re made of your own living tissue, don’t show up on most scans, they’re very discrete but not the best option out there. Mom’s best friend at the home had a BioLite that gave her nothing but grief and it had to be replaced with a traditional model. You’ve got a bunch of minor distraction techniques to keep your mind off the pain and discomfort when you’ve got to be out and dealing with people. Right now, you’re not holding your other hand.” Joe pointed. “You’re holding your ring. It’s something to keep your nervous system occupied. Spinal and head injuries, I saw a lot of those growing up and learned what people did to live with them.”

The pit-pat of the rain offered the only voice for about thirty-seconds. “I don’t know what your injury is, how you got it, when it happened, but it was the other blow put that first divide between you and Spock. Feel free to tell me that I’m full of shit because I’m full of shit, but I think sharing what you’re dealing with will help you both. There won’t be a Hollywood ending with sunshine and rainbows, those only exist my land of make-believe.”

“It is a complex situation that while I believe he would see my reasoning, an explanation might do more harm to our tenuous status.”

“Yeah, I would try to make things too easy.” The chill had started to settle in Joe’s fingers.

“Mr. Bergman, it is hard to show your weaknesses to the ones who look up to you the most. . .”

Joe didn’t hear Sarek walk away.


	139. Chapter 139

“Whoa, hold up!” McCoy shouted. His sides burned as he trotted along.

“If you cannot keep the pace I set, then you are a hindrance. Return to your ship, Dr. McCoy.”

“Look, Miss Sohja, I’m here to help.” He tried to offer an explanation for his presence.

“When is help not help?” Sohja, every bit the stubborn Vulcan, wasn’t considering his statement. “Humans as a species need to collectively evaluate their desire in assisting others. When you can separate true altruism from attention-seeking and sabotage, then we will discuss what constitutes help and how to properly deploy it.”

She was well behind where she wanted to be. McCoy had, in all his grace, kicked off enough noise that she’d returned to the area around the rental shuttle, saw who it was, and got the drop on him. “Laura and Veddah need a doctor, like a month ago. I’m that doctor and the faster they’re seen to the faster we can get in out of the rain.”

More walking.

“Feel free to call one of the local medics, hell bring Jason Abbott down from Dragon, and they’ll scratch their heads. You want to know why?” He just about got himself whipped in the face with a tree branch.

“No, I do not.”

“I’ve got experience, Sohja.” He’d sell her on his being in the right place at the right time.

“That experience does not include how to move quietly through a landscape. If you want to be alive to treat any potential patients you cannot make yourself known and be shot down by pirates.”

“I’ve been treating Spock and Sha’leyen for years. Tralnor’s auntie is still days out. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll leave you to your spycraft/espionage/whatever Sarek and T’Lal put you up to.” Paying closer attention to where his feet were, he went back to the floor, winded, where Sohja caught him in the chest with an elbow. She’d stopped. He couldn’t say it, but he happily thought that she was on his team now.

Hand out, she pulled him up and brushed plant debris off his clothing. “It was not my intention to hit you.”

“—‘ _sokay. . . fine_.” He leaned over, hands on his knees, and worked to restore his breathing.

“I cannot guarantee your safety, Dr. McCoy.” She leaned as to engage face-to-face. “I cannot certify my own.”

He got in a couple of good lungfuls of air. “I’ve been on a lot of landing parties in a lot of scary places. I’ve kept my carcass together and bitching so far.”

“Leave the phaser.”

“With those pirates you’ve talked about roving all over the joint? This thing means you don’t have to worry about my slow, smelly, loud human self.” Loathe to give up his weapon he wondered what the hell she was up to. Was this some scam to get him out of her hair? If he died he wasn’t underfoot?

“Energy weapons are ill-advised where we are going.” She had that same bearing as the other night during her body bags comment. “Abandon the phaser.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, and if you tell Spock that I did . . . Starfleet regulations say that personnel on a hostile world have to be— _What the fuck_!” He watched as the gun sailed some fair distance, pinged off a boulder, and clattered ten meters down the slope. She’d moved with such speed that he’d not seen her steal it right from his holster. Only when his eyes traced it disappearing did he grasp her action.

“Now you are not tempted to use it.” She bent at the waist, pulled up the hem of her tactical trousers, and removed a matte black object from her leg. “Flip the safety switch down, aim, pull the trigger.”

 _Damn, this thing is heavy_ , McCoy thought. “Sound easy.”

“It is.”

He examined it and could not call up any facts about gunpowder fueled projectiles other than the wounds they created were devastating. It fit in his standard-issue holster. “Sohja?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“We’re going to lick this thing.”

  
  
  
“If you value your life, get your greasy fucking hands off her.” Hoskins warned.

Silvio had done as that Trego Tech student had and placed a hand on Laura’s forearm. Her previously vicious grip was unable to peel him off. He then put on a smug grin. “Vulcans suffer delusions of settling down with human supremacists? Don’t make me laugh.”

“ _Enough_.” The doctor needed to get out a hypospray and knock Silvio out, put him down like the big, dumb animal he was. “Let go and walk away.”

Veddah had grown ever less tolerant of Silvio’s brand of tomfoolery. “You need to—”

“ _Oooh, the fuck doll is getting angry_.” Distorting his face in a manner sure to win the accolades of second graders the quadrant over, Silvio added, “I didn’t think that was supposed to happen to the likes of you.”

As Silvio refused to terminate his physical contact with Laura, Veddah said, “You would be angry too if you were in my position, Mr. Mazzi.”

“Huh?” Just as when he’d claimed hypoxia was not a word, he showed his contempt to people he believed were pinheaded numbskulls. “Your position? The only one you’ve got is of her riding you.”

Silvio laughed while Hoskins chased up the medication Laura needed next.

(I lack the continued strength to overlook his campaign of harassment toward you.) Veddah’s telepathic voice was strained.

“If you Greenie fucks are as strong as they claim, you’d have knocked her into next week.” The hand he’d not latched to his captain, Silvio used to poke Veddah in the chest. “ _Laura. Did. Not. Rape. You_.”

A twitch of his jaw was all the warning the Vulcan gave. After swiftly breaking the offending digit, Veddah employed his Starfleet combat training. On the floor of the cave, Silvio thrashed about imitating a fish reeled onto the bank. Veddah didn’t relent and knelt on the human’s lower back while holding those arms in a way that kept his bounty from coming up.

“Aaaaaah! What the fuck. Doc, shoot this degenerate!” The shout was more of a bleat.

“Did you hear something, Captain Hillyard?” Hoskins had a hypo, an IV bag, the catheter to start the line, and two syringes full of something.

“Not a thing.” She watched the tussle and it was clear who the victor was.

“Laura!” Silvio cried. “Zap him, get him the fuck off me.”

Hoskins set all the meds but one in Laura’s lap. “What did I tell you?”

“Screw you, Doc.” Silvio whipped his head around and tried to bite Veddah. “And you crybaby piece of shit, what are you doing?”

Veddah’s cool tone did not portray the burning anger and hate he had for this person. “ _I am mustering all the control I am able because I want to kill the mentally deficient man who keeps taunting and abusing my wife_.”

  
  
  
“If we go much slower we’re going to start moving backwards and end up somewhere last February. So infuriating.” Billie sorted through the onboard computer to try to override the speed governor that Pezig’s Gate thought they needed to keep their government employees from having too much fun in one of the administration’s rides.

“Have you tried bypassing the pitot circuits? It means we’ll have to guess how fast we’re going and hopefully not pancake into the ground when we get to wherever.” Kirk didn’t like that idea, flying into a storm system not knowing how strong the winds were or how quickly they were traveling.

“I can give it a shot.” She was keying in what she thought was the correct access to that system when an alarm klaxon told them to pull up. “Oh shit. I fucked up the gyroscope.”

Kirk leaned over, steering and taking a whack at Billie’s console. “I think—”

She reached and entered a course correction. They needed to avoid the huge flock of feathered somethings in their path. Some mechanism near the navigational inputs clicked and the automated warning shut off.

“Just keep it steady and I’ll get the pitots.” Jim said.

“Sounds perfectly fine by me.” She scooted to let him have better access. Billie thought she saw the grouping of possible-ducks on the traffic scan and that was normal enough. It was the bogey that came from behind the sort of-birds, changing course to dog the slow, borrowed shuttle that shook her insides. “Wait, why are they—Jimmy, did you tell anyone else to come down after us?”

“No.” He slid the panel off the sidewall of her footwell. “I think I’ve found the secret to our success.”

“That’s good because we need to kick this in the ass.” She made a move where she slid entirely into Jim’s seat and he pulled his legs over to her side. “We’re being followed.”

  
  
  
_Whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp_. The fight went out of Silvio and all he could hear was the thunderous pounding of his pulse. Head turned toward her, he let his cheek flatten against the dusty stone floor of the cave. “Laura?”

She thought he was insignificant and he’d rather that she openly hate him instead of look upon him with a contempt born of her false perception of his personality, work ethic, and physical being. He had loved her, still did, and would go to his grave with her name carved into his heart. “Laura?”

Silvio’s brain tangled in the rip current the Vulcan set off in him. . . _my wife. . . my wife. . . my wife_. . . “It’s not true. None of us, especially you, would let yourself get overtaken by a worthless piece of shit like that fuck doll.”

Her silence sent a stronger message than if she’d used words.

“You can’t be married to this, this, alien filth. You’re the Golden Girl.” He continued to strain against his surprisingly heavy captor. “You’re the face of the AVDL.”

Emaciated, her face lacked the familiarity of the person he once knew as his captain. “Veddah is my husband.”

He refused to process that statement. “It’s not a marriage if one of the people going into it was coerced. That mindfreak brain-rapist forced you into this.”

“For the first time in my miserable life, I have someone who values me for more than my hacking skills. He sees me as more than a warm place to stick his cock into at night. He’s not trying to use me to leap the rungs on the AVDL hierarchy ladder.” She looked at the monster planted on Silvio’s back. “Veddah is my husband.”

Was he living in some deviant parallel universe where he was the only sane person? “Laura, stop being ridiculous.”

She said those horrible words a third time, the sound of her voice only registering inside his skull. (Veddah is my husband.)

No! His internalized bellow of pain emerged as more of a whine as the shock of it crossed through his vocal cords. “But, Laura, how could you?”

“Because, Silvio, Veddah is a good man and you are not.”

He didn’t know if he should snipe back at her or cry. The choice was never made because the next sensation he had awareness of, he was drifting unconscious and vaguely saw Doc Hoskins with a now-empty hypospray in one hand.

  
  
  
Personal items gathered and stuffed back into luggage, seats restored to their upright positions, Joe made certain there weren’t going to be any flying projectiles hurling into the cockpit from No. 742’s passenger area. Mollie hopped aboard, pitching in to get the shuttle looking less like a dorm and more like a transport.

“T’Lal and Sha’leyen have already started down the tunnel.” She said while wadding up a pile of linens and shoving them into the coat closet. They weren’t going to have the time to neatly fold and stow everything.

“And what are we getting from your camp?” Joe locked the seats into place to keep them from sliding.

“Our big field medkit, Sha’leyen’s SOCO box, and the extra emergency blankets.” Mollie shifted to look out and see where Sarek had drifted off to. He wasn’t anywhere in her visual perception. However, a quick cast of her mind and she found him some ten-odd meters to the shuttle’s northwest, letting the rain chill him to the bone. She poked her head out, stepped onto the gangway, and hesitated calling out to him.

Head leaned back, precipitation impacting his face, the ambassador remained statuesque. A hand on her shoulder broke the spell of this atypical behavioral display. She said to Joe, “Which one of us should go out and get him?”

Joe hesitated, which was weird for the typically verbose producer.

She didn’t want to leave Sarek out there. “Joe?”

“Just give him a minute, Mollie.”

  
  
  
USS Dragon didn’t settle into their assignment at Dock Six for any longer than it took to send Kirk and Cody after Dr. McCoy. Sarah remained fixed on her board, eyes roving the screens, and sending information over to Chris. Captain Kuznetsov purloined Seltun and stuck him at the empty science station.

“Let’s go take a sniff around these last two docking facilities, then we can come back here and wait for the excitement to finish up down-below and get the hell back to Enterprise.” Kuznetsov’s expression grew darker, more resigned, every moment longer she had her ship in this system. “I’d like it if we could get out of here before the trouble begins.”

Sarah wasn’t going to think about trouble. Keep to the task at hand, she repeated every few minutes. She wasn’t the only tense soul on the bridges, but her complete inexperience at being under this kind of stress in this part of a ship was new, and she was trying not to cave beneath the doubt from the deepest gallows of her mind.

A yellow light blinked on the upper left-hand side of her particular set of inputs, gauges, and switches. The algorithm thought it had found another ship with the qualities MV Sweetness bore. She called up the transponder reading, the first visuals of the actual boat, and the important numbers. Well above average warp engines, eight cargo bays, a crew manifest that was probably garbage, home port of Acropolis VII, and—

This hadn’t happened before: Sarah’s screens brightened with a flashing overlay. Their sniffer was fully triggered. “Chris, BLP 02-118. MV Diamond Doll.”


	140. Chapter 140

Tralnor handed the field glasses off to Spock. (I can’t see anyone, but I can tell you that four people are in there.)

The aperture at the cave’s entrance was accommodating enough to allow Laura and Veddah to hide a small vehicle. This was an advantageous hideout, not easily found at ground level, and impossible to see from the air. From his and Tralnor’s perch, Spock didn’t observe any activity and the only suggestion to him that people were inside was the wisps of smoke languidly curling up from the apex of the adit.

(How long are we prepared to wait for them to emerge?) Tralnor was not going to suggest charging into that place, just the two of them, to move the timetable along.

(However long it takes, it takes.) Spock lacked the foolhardy nature to burst in on four people who were most certainly armed. Even though three of them were human, it was still an uneven match.

(Let the stakeout begin.)

  
  
  
Deep beneath the city, wyantium impregnated walls left behind, psionic communication was again possible. On the dry, cool air, a familiar scent penetrated Sha’leyen’s sinuses and automatic recall associated it with bioarchaeology’s catalogued artifact storage. The strange traits that carried over from civilization to civilization never failed to impress.

“Hillyard is desperately ill.” T’Lal relayed more information on the subject to Sarek. Sha’leyen talked about test results and what Tralnor’s overdeveloped senses added to the narrative. “If at all possible, make sure she is not overly stressed. Given her condition, I advise against the use of pop-stunners as shocking her with one on the lowest setting may simply stop her heart and drop her dead.”

Sha’leyen felt the bile rise in her chest and set part of her mind on a recitation of Surak’s _On the Nature of Contrarians_ , forcing herself to remain grounded and not be enticed to take a piece out of Laura’s hide for the terror and destructions she’d visited on the three misfortunate Starfleet vessels that had gotten in her way. Vengeance did not deliver absolution and never would. The immediate satisfaction of giving in to that temptation was not worth the lifetime of carrying around a hollow victory. There was no honor in cutting Laura’s throat while she was lame and fading. Take her out while defending the Enterprise against her cunning and intelligence, that was an acceptable action.

The first segment of the tunnel concluded, setting them on the edge of Pezig’s Gate’s secret pre-Reform anathema. Her former future mother-in-law took the lead into the repository of Vulcan treasures and diabolical reminders of a past left best undisturbed. Sha’leyen’s mettle was immediately put to the test when she looked over into the initial segment of the collection and saw a curio loaded with Belonite antiquities. Each item was hallmarked, property of the Third Regents, and she was reminded of the brutal desecration Vulcan had visited upon her world. The things in that display rightfully belonged to her family, if there was still anyone left to claim them.

“T’Lal, ahead, three meters, is a cask. The imprint is in Second Univocal Belonectic. It says, ‘Mobile Laboratory: Slave Drugs,’ and this is where the pharmacological data and samples I was seeking earlier are located, not in the clinics at all.” Sha’leyen let T’Lal relay that finding to Sarek. To be able to drop everything and scour this midden for the ketro’nitsin antidote! She said a silent incantation to Kotekru Kaylara that she be granted the opportunity to study to contents of this place, that storage container, in detail.

The women progressed deeper into the collection, not reacting to much of what they were seeing in a manner suggesting they were disturbed by the instruments of deviance. T’Lal and Sha’leyen had volunteered to take this route because the things that so deeply moved Spock and Tralnor, T’Lal had seen on other missions and Sha’leyen had lived in a world where much of this equipment was still in use.

“Wait.” The part of Sha’leyen’s mind that was always DS Tay, on-duty police, picked up something incongruous with the surrounding nightmares. “There is blood smeared on the floor.”

The dry stain was still fresh enough that it hadn’t begun to flake away. Given the color, this biological residue had to have come from Laura. Hemoglobin was clearly present as a red-ish hue contrasted with the ivory-colored mockstone floor. Even with that conclusion, something was off. What wasn’t her brain sorting out to give a rational explanation? “I’ve seen a lot of crime scenes and the corresponding blood evidence that goes with them. It’s mostly been human blood based on the agencies I work for.”

T’Lal had spent much of her life around humans and knew the conclusion Sha’leyen was arriving at. “You are going to say that the coloring is off.”

“Not by much, probably not enough that a human would notice.” Sha’leyen was starting to think she’d be getting her answers about what struck Laura by performing the pirate’s autopsy.

  
  
  
Billie pointed out the windscreen. “Look, that’s got to be their base camp. I don’t see the ShuttleDirect rig, but I know a Starfleet field admin tent when I see one.”

“That’s ours alright.” Kirk was aware that they were flying into the realm of a dead city. Given the lush green and heavily wooded landscape, he thought they’d arrive at the Vulcan equivalent of the Aztec ruins found entrapped in the Mexican rainforests. This was creepy, more akin to a regiment’s worth of bleached skeletons left to the desiccating elements of a desert.

She banked to starboard, taking them over the city center. “I found a ShuttleDirect. Should we check it out?”

  
  
  
Morgana Ryan returned to MV Sweetness’ center seat after confirming that the captain had them paid up for another week. She’d been fielding comments most of the day about where Silvio and Dr. Hoskins had gone. Not the only member of the crew hoping Mazzi didn’t come back, she was content to collect on her pay packet and not have to put in much more effort than it took to get dressed in the morning.

She started mentally tracing the path that put her on a ship of Sweetness’ renown. Had she not been unfairly booted from Starfleet, she sure as hell would not choose to crew a freighter/pirate ship. Rock bottom, three years, and she was still here. Her insides still twisted every time she had the slightest remembrance of the flaming wreck of a once brilliant career.

Dressed in short sleeves, her arms bore the remains of her downfall. On her last assignment as navigator aboard the USS Fort Benton, she’d been forced to share a living space with the filthiest slob in the entire fleet. Four times in six months, her repulsive Saurian roomie infected Morgana with Portolian Bot Flies. She’d finally had enough of the fecally-transmitted parasites, spread by unwashed Saurian hands, that followed countless rebukes from superior officers who told her she needed to be more tolerant of people from other backgrounds. It was when Dr. Drake excised the last of the fourth round of giant flesh-eating larvae from her body, she reached the breaking point.

After a tirade against the disgusting fucking slob, who incidentally happened to be non-human, Morgana and her motives were misconstrued as a racist outburst. No one believed her fury and disgust was a health and hygiene issue. A refusal to recant became a disciplinary issue became a court-martial. Starfleet said she was a human supremacist and tossed her the fuck out.

Appeals dismissed, again she was brushed off as a human supremacist. Every layer of Federation bureaucracy above her said she was a bad person, told her to go away and congregate with supposedly like-minded individuals. So she did.

“Morgana, is something the matter?” The bridge engineer, Dobbs, pulled her out of her not-so-nice trip down memory lane. “Your arm. . .”

She’d gone on a subconscious dig for the horrific creatures once living in her skin. “You told me I was a human supremacist. . .”

“Morgana?”

A look toward the engineer, “I’m fine.”

Back on her feet, she went over to her usual station, gave a quick read to the board, and spoke to the third person on the bridge, a borderline incompetent and nominal communications operator. “Hey, Welshie, can you get me a transponder scan of the ships incoming to our Dock?”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Reclaiming her normal chair, she fired up the astrogator screen. Her engineer sidled up to her and slapped a dermaplast bandage over the hole she’d gouged into her arm. She hadn’t gone on a subconscious larvae hunt in months. She’d been doing so good too.

“Um, it looks like we might have—” Flummoxed or brain-damaged, the report was stuck in Welshie’s craw.

“I don’t have time for your fussing, give me the damned reading.” Morgana’s next task, she punched in a code that instantly called Sweetness to general quarters.

Welshie froze and gawped, “ _Oh shit, it’s Starfleet_.”

  
  
  
Laura continued to perk up under Dr. Hoskins’ ministrations. She’d not felt this good in days. That was not to claim she was actually any better than when she’d woken up. He’d gotten her to a point where she was medicinally bolstered and ready to do something proactive. Veddah was firmly against this. He and the former veterinarian wanted a rapid return to MV Sweetness.

“I don’t need to be plugged into a wall in your infirmary, Doc.” She plead her case. “One last peek around for the prize I’m looking for.”

“Adun’a, I know we said you would have a final examination of the hoard today, but your medical care is exceedingly more important than a box that once belonged to a long-dead ancestor.”

“We’ll take Doc along and he can keep close tabs on me.” She turned to Hoskins. “You have to swear under penalty of death that if you reveal anything about what you see, anything about my clandestine marriage, that you’ll have a date with my Walther.”

Hoskins said nothing. He knew how her promises worked and he didn’t have to agree with what she’d just said because she would put a bullet through his skull if he let out so much as a whisper about the topics she’d warned him against. That was the basic level of a package deal. He could walk now and keep his life. He could hear her out and see if the second part of her offer was worth it to him. Declining that part would not negate getting off this damp rock alive.

“Veddah and I are getting out of this AVDL racket and I know for you that you like extraterrestrials just fine, even if their blood chemistry turns them funny colors. Sweetness is just a job to you. Help us now, I’ll have a new identity for you in no time.” She lapsed into a spine-wrenching cough. When it finally passed and she had enough air to speak, she added the cherry on top. “And, you’ll have the professional credentials to work in your chosen profession again. I wouldn’t try for any of the mainstream Federation settlements, but there are plenty of non-aligned colonies and even alien worlds who’d want a decent doctor. That said, you foist that beast in your drawers on anyone who doesn’t want it, there’s exactly nothing I can or will do for you. Is that a deal?”

A swift kick to the scrotum would have been less of a surprise than her offer. Hoskins’ mouth made some silent movements as he searched for the words to craft a reply. All he’d ever had that made him happy was his work. He’d always been better with animals than people and that was a truth from his youngest years. Some of his earliest good memories were of his two pet cockatiels, Frog and Toad, riding around on his shoulders. He’d loved those little birds. . . They were friendly and he’d hand-tamed them to the point of petting them and could bury his nose in that teeny spot right between their shoulders and inhale, taking in the scent of popcorn. They talked, they played, he was sure they’d loved him too.

“I object.” Veddah reiterated his opinion on returning to the tunnels.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Hoskins said. “But I’d be mad not to take my life back. I’m not getting another chance.”

The boy nodded. He understood Hoskins’ motive and didn’t have to like that Laura used this as an end-run to take one last stab at achieving her goal. “It would be illogical for you to choose otherwise.”

“And it’s the both of you who have the upper hand.” Hoskins started shoving the medical supplies into his own bag. “If I don’t follow through, I’m trapped in this criminal underworld until the end of days. If I don’t keep all of this here, including the two of you together forever, to my own, I’m dead. Laura kills me. If I can’t use all of my skill and experience to pull her through this, I’m dead. You’ll kill me.”

Laura nodded. She got to her feet, some vim returned. “I’d say that sums things up.”

“I propose this, Captain Hillyard.” Hoskins slipped a tube of smelling salts into an easily accessible pocket on his jacket. “I’ll hump all the supplies and you let your husband carry you and that saves you some energy.”

  
  
  
Sheltered beneath a camouflaged tarpaulin, the second hour of the watch-and-wait world series began. Not for the first time, Spock was thankful for his Vulcan upbringing because he was taught ways of always keeping occupied and how not to fall prey to boredom. Part of his mind was on constant alert while one subdivided section revised a theory he’d postulated on the intertwined sunspot activity between the two stars that made up the center of the Corvalis system. Yet a third section was the room in which he tried to think of what he was going to say if he lived long enough to see Jim Kirk today.

A smile, the twinkle of an eye, a playful conversation built entirely of innuendos, the brand of peace that came from just sharing a space with that man, those recollections nipped at Spock’s heels. There was no denying that something in him still wanted Kirk as an integral part of his life. What would it be like to let him back in? Was this lesson learned for Jim, he got his act together and could be a friend and more without sinking them into the abyss?

Was there something Spock could have done to foster a positive change in his human captain?

(He’s got to want to change, Spock, and not for your sake, but his own.) The hyper-empath spoke the truth.

(Tralnor, am I delusional?)

(No, you’re—) Tralnor didn’t finish his thought but held out his hand for the field glasses. He didn’t look through them for more than two seconds. (We’ve got movement. It looks like they’re coming out and they’re on foot.)

His turn for the glasses, Spock gave a brief glance toward the entrance of the cave. (This is curious.)

(What’s that?)

(The older male, that is Manfred Hoskins, MV Sweetness’ medical officer, and Veddah is transporting Laura. Earlier you said there were three humans and a Vulcan in that hiding place.)

Tralnor followed. (So where is the other guy?)


	141. Chapter 141

“What the hell is this place?” Billie snatched the words right off Kirk’s tongue. They’d found No. 213 cold, buttoned-up, and abandoned in the middle of an eerily empty street. If there had been people in the vicinity any time in the last hundred years, there was no sign.

“It’s creepy is what it is.” Jim approached a building, peered into a window, and said, “Everything about this is, I don’t know, sinister?”

“Sinister is a good word.” She went with him to a structure with a covered porch area.

“I think it would be less of a mystery if we knew what any of this signage said. You’ve got your Buffalo Bill Thinking Hard face on, any ideas?” He wanted to leave, never acknowledging he’d ever been to Pezig’s Gate.

“Yeah, that Ancient Golic is not my area of expertise. I know enough to figure out root words and some parts of speech, but to give this a fluent read? No, not without going back to school first.”

“You’re getting the gist of things, right? That we know we don’t need to look in a place called Candy Shop, but stand a chance of finding evidence of our people in a building that says it was once the Archaeology Museum?” He had stock that she’d come through.

A shrug wasn’t what he wanted out of her. “Did you ever study Attic Greek?”

“No, I wish. I’d love to read the ancient canon in its purest form.”

“This, all around us, is Ancient Golic. It uses most of the same characters, has a vaguely similar grammatical structure, and the word construction is several steps away from what is used today. Where Modern Greek and Modern Golic deviate from their ancestors is that they’re close enough to derive basic meaning from the old forms, but it doesn’t sound the same, isn’t used in the same ways, and you don’t get contextual or hidden meanings from straight readings.” She felt around on the collar of her coat and loosened the hood from its hiding place. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to turn into a linguistics lecture.”

“That’s okay, Billie.” He started toward the street. “Let’s get back to our shuttle, run some heat, and figure out what our next move is.”

  
  
  
“MV Sweetness is not responding to our hail.” Chris performed a series of tasks that Sarah couldn’t identify.

“Not surprising.” Cosgriff said. “All scans show the engines are cold and weapons systems are offline.”

“Any acknowledgement by Sweetness’ automated subsystems?” Kuznetsov was on her feet, hands on her hips, as she stared down the ship displayed on the main viewer.

“Nothing, Sir.” Chris didn’t glance at the screen. “Absolute quiet.”

“Once more for good measure, Lieutenant. Standard hail.” The captain leaned over Chekov’s shoulder and said, “Postoyannaya bditel’nost.”

“Da, Kapitan.” The young man replied.

Sarah assumed that Kuznetsov was offering a word of encouragement then wondered what she was still doing on the bridge now that the Sweetness was completely on the radar. She called up the inter-station message program. Not intending to distract Chris, but wanting to make sure she wasn’t in the way of other officers and their now life-and-death work, she sent a query to the communications man.

 _You’re fine and not in anyone’s way.—CO’D_ When his reply didn’t offer any criticisms or suggestions that her time up here with the big dogs was over, Sarah understood that something in her lizard brain was looking for an excuse to scurry below decks and keep to her familiar world of laboratory science.

“They’re still ignoring us, Captain.”

“Try a pyramidal multi-packet burst, O’Dell.” Kuznetsov wasn’t showing a spec of frustration and wasn’t going to be drawn into following her emotions like Commander Franklin.

“Aye.” Chris began on some protocol. “How many levels, Sir?”

“Nine. Don’t follow what the busybodies at Command put into the training manuals.” She snapped her fingers. “Setting the so-called _hidden message_ in the center of the heap is an elementary move.”

Out of sorts, Sarah took notice of a screen at her station. Chris was letting her see what the captain was talking about. He sent a comment telling her to pay attention because this was a roundabout way of getting another ship, not the crew aboard that vessel, to acknowledge the hail and open channels. Sweetness would get a bombardment of messages, almost all of them junk, one, three, five at a time, and so on, microseconds apart. It didn’t always work, but when it did, it was a shock to the other ship.

In one-hundred-forty-five separate packets, sent out in nine volleys, three legitimate queries were hidden in all of the garbage. Sarah thought she could see a weather report, an order form, a procedure manual for a ship-wide vacuum cleaning system, a memo from a sector commander, she hoped Sweetness answered immediately.

Three, maybe five seconds passed and the overhead lighting flickered until it pulsed like a discotheque strobe, followed by the sound of static roaring out of the PA system. Disquieted by the development, Sarah had to close her eyes against the onslaught. She heard officers around her shout, their words muddled by the white noise, indecipherable nonsense met her ears.

Lights out, a bosun’s whistle replaced the static, and attention shifted to the main viewer as it came to life on its own. A pre-recorded video began to play. This was where Sarah got her first glimpse at the infamous Captain Laura Hillyard. In another universe, this Slavic doll would have been a model. Icy blue eyes, long blond hair rolling over her shoulders, clothes chosen specifically because they highlighted her body’s feminine features, she was one of the single most beautiful people Sarah had ever seen.

“ _No, no, no_ , Starfleet.” Laura shook a finger at those who’d dare attempt to exploit her ship. “While the dipshit captain of your average merchant vessel might not have a single fucking clue that you’re tricking their ancillary communication subsystems into letting you stuff your sticky fingers in their business, I know to expect your assortment of shenanigans.”

Someone close to Sarah cussed, then she heard, “I liked it a hell of a lot better when the bitch was shooting at us.”

  
  
  
Kirk shook his communicator as he looked it over, trying to get it to tap into USS Dragon’s frequency bands. Not all the thwacking and button twisting in the world was bringing it online. “Billie, so we know it’s just me with the problem, can you check yours?”

They’d intended on asking Kuznetsov to scan the area again to see if any of the clusters of people had migrated between the last time Buffalo Bill got numbers and coordinates compared to now. Their own shuttle in view, he took another buzz by No.213. Was this executive-mobile outfitted with some kind of signal jammer meant to keep Sarek and his group from being found and it was interfering with Starfleet equipment?

“Something’s wrong up there.” She got up next to him, returning after a fast visit to their borrowed vehicle. “Handheld is useless and the shitbox civilian-model comm in the Government Gofer Getter got me Air Traffic, Main Orbital C and C, and backcountry rangers. Orbital sent Dragon a test message and got exactly nothing back in reply.”

“Do we know the ship is still up there, running, in one piece?” He and Billie went back to their plan of returning to their shuttle and turning the heat up to maximum.

“Visual confirmation only, but no signs of a struggle or catastrophic accident. They’ve got some Rapid Scouts they’re deploying to get a closer look.” She popped the rear hatch and they got on. “And that’s just a precaution because they think Hillyard’s widget hauler is exactly what it claims on the tin.”

Previous experience in failing to take the murderous pirate’s claims seriously, Kirk was worried about Dragon. The implications were chilling.“It sounds like Tralnor’s lads found Laura and that she’s true to form.”

  
  
  
Laura’s hips and spine protruded, her skin lacking the depth of a healthy adipose layer, and those blades and processes dug into Veddah where he held her. That was with her clothes on and a blanket wrapped around her. She fought to stay awake on this trip back to the king’s ransom but was soon asleep.

Veddah waited a moment for Hoskins to catch up. The doctor’s fear grew more powerful the further they moved from the cave. If what Silvio implied was correct and Hoskins suffered a phobia of open spaces, then the former vet was performing admirably.

“Just so you know, it wasn’t anything personal.” Hoskins’ claim made no sense to the Vulcan. “It had been six months since the last time I got laid, you were pretty, and Laura could use the threat of me to keep you in line.”

“I still find your desire to kill through the infliction of a sex act to be very personal, Dr. Hoskins.”

“I’m not going to say that I didn’t think about fucking you, because I did. I didn’t want to kill you, farthest thing from it.” Hoskins shaded his eyes with his hand, not so much to keep the rain out, but so he couldn’t see the sky. “I’d remembered reading a journal article when I was an undergrad that talked about gay sex with nonhumans, and that if I tried anything with you like that, because of the sheer size of my freak-show cock I could leave you fatally wounded. I get off on fucking and demeaning, not killing, unlike that prick Silvio.”

Was this some kind of awkward attempt at an apology? Veddah couldn’t judge that since he had a difficult time reading the doctor.

“I was going to make you suck me off, slap you around with my dick, threaten to fuck you to death, and enjoy your fear. I figured I’d do that a few times, tide me over until Sweetness made port for a couple of days, and I could pay someone to satiate my desire.” He checked a chronometer that probably offered Campbell City Standard Time since that’s what Sweetness ran on. “I was trying to let myself into your room when Laura caught me. I didn’t get the chance to tell her I could only get halfway with you, took a gamble, and saw what I could get out of that unexpected run-in with her.”

The story stopped and Hoskins attempted to go on with his disturbing recollection and stuttered. They covered another hundred meters before the vet could get his mouth to work. “She was convinced that I’d get in there and ruin you. I let my penis do my thinking and facilitated your rape. She thought she was saving you from me and permanent injury when I basically got everything I wanted. I’d have to wait a bit to get things wet but I still got to jack off to your terror and humiliation and could hit replay whenever I wanted.”

Laura coughed again and held on, Veddah keeping her from hurting herself. He couldn’t respond to Hoskins’ declaration.

“I should have realized how much she liked you and how it was going to mess her up putting her in a situation where—I’m taking a play out of her book: outline, explain, and take the fucking blame because sorry doesn’t mean shit in a situation like this.” That was all Hoskins could say on the matter.

  
  
  
Kirk shut off the comm system in Sha’leyen’s administrative tent. “Our guy at C and C says Dragon is holding fast in a Dock she’s not assigned to.”

“Did they relay your message to Enterprise?” Billie came in from the shuttle.

“Not that it's going to do a damned bit of good. We can’t get that ship any closer than she is. And I don’t want to piss these people off.”

“Well, let’s see what we can find between that spring and the wyantium mountains.” She held the flap open and they left the camp.

  
  
  
The canned message cut out, plunging the bridge into total darkness until strategically stored handheld torches allowed work to continue unimpeded. Sarah’s memory of Enterprise’s encounter with MV Sweetness was of a load of work coming in from sick bay and that her department shifted on and off emergency power several times. Until now, it wasn’t anywhere in her job description to worry about the Laura Hillyards of the universe. Dragon, not being Sarah’s ship, didn’t have a lab bench as a place for her to retreat.

She began on a silent recitation of the first meditation Dr. Tralnor taught to his high school students. If she didn’t calm down, she risked impeding the real bridge crew. Such behavior was irresponsible and entirely unprofessional. She’d kept it together when she handled the mass grave and forty-one postmortems for the crew of the USS Seren, had ducked in and out of live operating theatres during procedures when the nurses couldn’t run samples down to the lab. In her tenure aboard the Enterprise, she’d seen brain-eating nematodes, lung tissue reduced to a puddle of ooze where three crewmen had been attacked by a gaseous entity and they breathed it in, bloodstreams gone septic, viral loads high enough to kill a herd of elephants, and any number of terror-inducing conditions/inflictions that would keep any other person on this bridge awake nights.

Closer to center, she realized that Kuznetsov had asked her something. Sarah assumed she’d been invited to leave but had the captain restate the request. “Lt. David, since I know you to be a highly trained musician, I want you on the headset and listening for patterns on the channels Mr. O’Dell routes to you.”

“Yes, Sir.” It didn’t matter if this was bullshit busy work to keep her out of the fray or a legitimate task, Sarah would take it.

“Standard, Command, Emergency One, Emergency Two, and that favorite for sneaking shit around, Operations Four.”

“So many think O-4 is redundant and mostly dead that they can get away with mayhem and pot-stirring by using it.” Chris sniggered and shot off a typed message: _Sarah, Hillyard has effectively muzzled us, put a bag over our heads, and plugged our ears. We’ve got engines and can steer, but we can’t get out of here safely without communications and the ability to see where other ships and dock installations are. I have an idea I hope to hell will work. I’m going to get into the guts of my console while you keep listening.—CO’D_

Kuznetsov pointed at Sarah. “Any pattern.”


	142. Chapter 142

They kept No. 742 closer to the ground than Mollie would have liked, but having only the eyes in their heads to scan the wilds below for humanoid life left no other option than the current flight plan. Any higher, the fog and precipitation would obscure sightlines.

The weather, still completely miserable, threatened to blow the shuttle out of the air. She and Joe, their combined experience not totaling enough hours to have a single passenger endorsement between them, were not the right people to have at the controls. The pair of them objected to the plan to have them pick up equipment and ferry Sarek to the area Spock and Tralnor had staked out. There was no rah-rah, we believe in you pep talks, just the truth that they had to perform their assigned task.

“Tell me if the aft horizontal stabilizer starts going on the blink.” Mollie had dialed in the artificial horizon to show as one of the three gauges she could send to the Gulfstream’s paltry heads-up display. To keep tabs on the stabilizer, she’d have to jettison instrument views she needed. She wasn’t good enough at this to have to keep glancing down to get the right information. Joe was her new warning system.

“Sure thing.” Joe was remarkably cool, a far different man than the one who’d cussed and carried on throughout lessons and the exam. He located the place on his board where he’d monitor those readings, then turned his head to get a rapid check-in on their rider.

(How is he?) She dared ask, pulling the nose up to cut over the foliage-heavy crests of a series of hills.

 _I’d have to go with brokenhearted_. He set the words on the surface of his mind where she read them. _He understands that he’s the one who fucked up with Spock when he left home for Starfleet Academy. As for these T.E. Lawrence-style missions, his massive TBI, and keeping his son at a distance for his own good, Sarek did what he had to and it was the right thing, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less_.

  
  
  
(We expected her to be in rough shape, but this is—How is she still alive, Spock?)

(Humans being as delicate as they are, I believe, based on what we are observing, that she should have been dead some thirty-six hours ago.) Spock removed his gloves. They’d been soaked through and made it colder than if he shucked them. (Perhaps it is because she is too mean to die.)

Tralnor was in agreement, Laura was a tough customer, the kind of person who was never out, never down, and would fight the world until her heart beat its last. (When have you ever known her to give up on anything?)

(Never.)

They kept on after the dying woman, her captive, and the disgraced medical practitioner, observing and moving on the hills. Rain and the distraction of Hillyard’s condition kept Veddah from putting his attention to listening for other people.

(I need to get down low and physically cover their steps.) Tralnor said. (If I can get a perception of what they’re feeling and thinking it will help. . .)

Tralnor started to descend and Spock cut ahead, his Starfleet training, his rank, his position in the Enterprise’s hierarchy placed him there, Lt. Commander Ah’delevna-MacCormack was his responsibility. Spock’s next action, as a man, a friend, a relative of the hyper-empath that he had to offer protection to a person who’d been exceptionally good to him. For the first time since they’d made landfall on Pezig’s Gate, Spock was not only wearing the gun he’d been given, he racked the slide and seated a 9mm bullet where it was ready to fire the instant he disengaged the safety and applied approximately one-point-five kilos of pressure to pull the trigger.

(She’s asleep.) Tralnor removed his gloves, but for a different reason than Spock had. He bent over, touching the ground at an interval that only made sense to him, and reported his findings. (What’s the story on the doctor?)

(Born and raised on earth, educated at Texas A & M, was by all accounts an excellent veterinarian with one exception.)

(Whatever it is, it’s not good. You’ve got my stomach gurgling.) Tralnor sidled up to Spock where the first officer halted.

(He has a record of sexual improprieties.) He tried not to think of the case files he’d seen on Hoskins. (He's known for-)

(I don’t want the details.) Hand back on the floor, Tralnor sent out psionic feelers to pull more information about their quarry. (This vet, he’s terrified to the core, and it’s so overwhelming, I can’t ferret out the reason why he’s in such a bad place.)

Returned to the pursuit, Spock didn’t know why Hoskins was engulfed by fear. (What of Veddah?)

(He’s. . .) The hesitation was a sign of bewilderment.

(He has succumbed to the stress of his captivity?)

(Superficially, it would look that way, but it's something else that’s so unexpected it makes my head swim. I don’t know how he came to be in this state.) Tralnor jammed his hands into his coat pockets. (Spock, Veddah’s _in love_ with Laura.)

  
  
  
Bound, gagged, and locked in the cargo area of Laura’s vehicle, Silvio emerged from his chemical straightjacket. The javelin of betrayal still harpooning him through the heart, he was in too much disbelief to have any emotions beyond shock and sadness. Digging around in the space between his back and the bulkhead created by the rear bench seat, he wasn’t worried about not seeing what he was looking for. In a sadistic repeat of his escape from Sweetness’ brig, he would find a way to get out even if he had to gnaw off a finger, and he’d start with the numb, broken, splinted one, to shed his bonds.

Dead space the only thing discovered, he flopped, again imitating a flailing fish. There was a box, lid tied down with some scrap of fabric, that would have a tool. Undulating and grunting his way over, he snagged the strapping and tipped the box on its side. Knot undone, he had to scoot to let the top fall off. “Let’s see what goodies we’ve got here.”

Silvio rolled over and let out a holler that bordered on a shriek. This wasn’t fear, per se, that sent him hurtling to the opposite side of the car, but he’d gotten shock enough to spook him. Once he got his breathing and pulse to a level where he could assess the situation, he began to feel loss, but not mourning of people and lifestyles he'd come to enjoy.

“ _What the fuck_!” He shouted across the small cargo bay. There was not enough room in the world to get away from this macabre surprise. Laura, in her derangement, had a dead baby in her rig! An arm fell off the mummified infant, brittle remnants of flesh and diminutive bones crumbling into something not unlike the owl pellets he’d dissected in elementary school.

At least its eyes were closed and he didn’t have to look into a couple of black holes. He shuddered again and cursed the gods that had put that Vulcan monster into his captain’s life. It was in that string of expletives that he was given an awareness, whoever the dumb bastard was who’d tied him up, hadn’t done a very good job. There was barely enough slack on his right wrist that he’d squeeze it out if he pulled hard enough. On that first tug, he was reminded that this was the same hand he’d wounded yesterday, the same hand attached to the finger the fuck doll broke.

Unwilling to spend more time with a corpse, he clenched his jaw and yanked.

  
  
  
“Science, lifeforms?” Kuznetsov ascended to the upper deck to see what Chris was up to.

Readings had been the same for the last fifty minutes. It made Sarah’s apprehension sense prickle. The Captain was certain some event was going to change the personnel count down there though she didn’t say how or why she’d come to that conclusion.

The main viewer lit up again so Seltun could show what he’d found. “There are six individuals encroaching on Praxidike’s initial landing zone. All are human.”

“Someone’s shown up to spoil the party down there.” Cosgriff let the weariness seep into his voice. Had choices been his to make, he’d have backed off before Sweetness’ trap line snared them.

“Come on, Uhura. Let this work.” Chris invoked the name of his division head, where he then lifted his hands from the key work on his board and dropped to the deck. Sat on his ass, he slid the access panel off its tracks and started burrowing. “That’s it. . .”

  
  
  
The pain in his left hand included a vicious rope burn that still made it more useful than the right. Silvio tried to get his fingers to stop tingling, but in the end, that didn’t matter so much. Who needed two functional hands to make today’s trip worth the effort? Out of the car, rear hatch up, he leaned back into the cargo area to see if there was anything of value. Still finding only the dead child, he released the locks on the passenger doors and kept digging.

About the only useful thing in the cabin was a bottle of drinking water. He chugged it down and went into the cave proper. Still hungry and not worried about Hoskins’ recommendation of a liquid diet, the next objective was food. He found the captain’s candy stash and upended the tub onto the floor. Orange slices, spice drops, black licorice,and those disgusting three-colored coconut things were where they belonged and not in anyone’s stomach. How she ate and liked such nastiness, he’d failed to learn that truth for years. Milk powder, freeze-dried seasonings, cold cereal, ration bars that constipated the most steely guts, raw potatoes, uncooked pasta, tinned beans, chocolate bars, whatever there’d been for snacks and junk food, it looked like Silvio had already devoured it all.

Not particularly fond of chocolate, he unwrapped the first bar and bit in. He’d get heartburn and a headache from it later, but it did its job for now. Portable munching gave him the range to keep exploring. When he came upon the palate of bedding where Laura and the fuck doll slept, he groaned at the stench.

“ _Motherfucker_. . .” The Vulcan’s toiletries were neatly placed next to his case, tossing Silvio down a figurative chute that lead to the sewer. “Her husband. . .”

Toeing through things, finding nothing but clothes and a shaving kit, he moved over to Laura’s stuff. “Her husband. . .”

Laundry, hair clips and combs gone unused, antiperspirant cream, a partially consumed package of sanitary towels, he didn’t know what, if anything, he wanted from this search. He was never figuring out how she could still be this hung up on having a kid. Practically bleeding out, fucking someone who could never do the deed even if she was fertile, what the hell did she think this self-perpetuated misery was going to get her? “She says that _Vulcan cunt_ is her husband. . .”

Nearing complete loss, Silvio finished the chocolate bar and the two others in the woefully understocked larder. “ _Her fucking husband_!”

The anger and humiliation he took out on the wedded couple’s belongings was what he wished he could do to Veddah. Smashed, ripped apart, crushed beneath his boots, he visited all the destruction he could, wherein he concluded by lowering his zipper and pissing on his rival’s half of the bed.

Done with this shit, he’d trudge back up the slope to his car and get the hell out of here. When he made it to the station, he’d call his father and ask for a ticket home. If he didn’t do that before he saw Laura again, he’d kill her.

Tucked back in his drawers, he was leaving when he saw one of the few things he’d not ruined sitting beneath Laura’s chair. Serious consideration went into leaving it or finishing what he started, he went for the chair. A nothing-looking box carved out of stone sat there, unassuming, like a wart on someone’s ass. There’d been a rumor going about MV Sweetness that Dan Shelley had given Laura a box of diamonds as a reward for a job well done. Nothing was said if she was supposed to invest them into the ship or if Shelley meant them as a personal gift. Either way, it didn’t matter to Silvio. He was a lot smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for and he knew Laura better than anyone else alive. Where would she hide millions of credits worth of diamonds? In an obvious place for all to see, creating a false sense of familiarity. Oh yes, this was exactly what he needed.

Pleased, Silvio didn’t have to call home and beg a ride from his Pops now.

  
  
  
_Click-tock-tap-click-click-pause-tick, click, tap_. . . Sarah didn’t know what she was hearing. Was there a person or a machine behind these sounds or was this an artifact of solar radiation? Did MV Sweetness decide to scattershot Dragon with noise to confuse the Starfleet ship?

She plugged the ear without the headset to block out voices and Chris pounding on something beneath his console. _Ting-tap-tick-click-tock-pause_ —After finding the knob that gave her a replay of what was coming in, she listened to the same ninety-second section four times in a row. Her find was possibly not what Kuznetsov was looking for exactly, but it was something. Sarah informed the captain.

“On the viewer, Lt. David.” Kuznetsov said from where she was crouched down and walking Chris through the guts of the main communications station.

Chris hadn’t shown her which knob, button, switch, slide, or combination thereof sent her data to the front of the bridge. “Um—”

“Lt. David?” Not irritated but would be soon, Kuznetsov stood.

“Pardon my ignorance, Sir. I don’t know how to execute that order.” Another huge reminder that her lack of experience in these matters was costing precious time and possibly lives, she expected a terse reply.

“Section farthest on your left, middle bank, key E-2.” The captain directed.

“Yes, Sir.” Where Sarah would have thanked a superior for resolving a similar situation down in med micro, she knew that such niceties only stifled progress up here.

“Audio, same section, lower bank, switch F-5.”

Request fully completed, the bridge sat in silence, everyone listening closely and following the readout. “An explanation, Lt. David?”

“If this was a piece of music, the time signature would be a mixed meter, alternating measures of 5/8 and 3/8. There are five sounds, one per beat, then a rest of three beats.” What any of it meant, she could not fathom.


	143. Chapter 143

“Now, let me ask you this, do you think this guy was assaulted? I mean, some people like it rough.”

“There’s rough and then there’s limping along like you’ve got a meter-long cactus shoved up your ass.” Ranger Mason said to his boss, Sergeant Rusk. “I believed the other things about his story, that he was taking medical supplies to someone, but he was lying through his teeth about the husband.”

Sgt. Rusk was skeptical and had already voiced his preference for not getting involved in domestic disputes. He’d been a regular cop for five years until the people started to get to him. He’d seen becoming a law enforcement ranger as the best possible use of his time and talents. “Last time I found myself in the center of one of these messes, that’s how I lost the tip of my ear when the psycho broad went from thumping and biting her husband to trying it on me.”

“You’ve got to trust me on this, Sarge. George Sharpe is in trouble.”

Realizing he had nothing better to do, Rusk shook his head. “Well, start triangulating that rental. Let’s check in on your Mr. Sharpe.”

  
  
  
Sohja and Dr. McCoy initially thought some large, mean animal had ripped apart the vehicle situated just inside the mouth of a cave. Slashed seats, stuffing strung about the cab, what looked like a spray of piss on a rear quarter panel, it wasn’t until they swung around the car and read a message scrawled with mud that they understood just what kind of animal they were dealing with.

“Someone sure doesn’t like Vulcans.” McCoy wasn’t hesitant to follow Sohja deeper into hostile territory, but he wouldn’t do any good if he lagged and spent his time not even pretending to work.

Motion-activated battery-operated lanterns showed the inhabited section of the cave in no better repair than the rental vehicle. The fire, reduced to a collection of smoldering embers looked inviting, but there was no respite to gather over flames and warm cold limbs. “A Vulcan male has been here.”

“Is that a guess?” The doctor picked up a rod used to stoke the fire and had started to dig through the ruins.

“A guess, Doctor?”

“Don’t shoot me.” He held up his free hand in mock surrender.

“It is not my intention to shoot you.” The staredown eyebrow told McCoy what she thought without needing to finish what she was saying. “As for guessing, I am stating fact, not supposition.”

“Why do I even bother with you people?” His frustration not dissipating, he said, “. . . an entire race who can’t appreciate the punchline of a good joke, what dull lives you must live.”

“I know you are trying to be funny, Doctor, but—” Double brow lift, she exhibited an expression McCoy interpreted as the Vulcan manifestation of a parent pretending to share in the merriment of a first-year concert band performance.

“Uh-huh.” He sighed. An innumerable lecture on the frivolity of his human emotions was the last thing he needed right now. “I’m sorry, no not sorry, that involves expressing an emotion, let’s just say I’m not here to insult—”

Sohja’s face returned to the neutral setting, didn’t change as she laid down her follow-up, cutting him off mid-sentence. “ _Eat me_.”

He faltered, thought his head must have exploded, and was at a complete loss as to what to do or think next.

“What I was attempting to say is that in this situation, humor is going to disrupt our thought processes, making this search take longer than it should. While the subconscious mind desires that token of amusement to take some of the sting out of what we are facing here, we must pause that need for the sake of expediency.”

“Okay.” They moved deeper into the cave. “I can see where you’re coming from. What was the point of randomly saying 'eat me'?”

“It is a workable example of what I have just explained.” She sniffed the air. “More human urine, male, and—”

Goddamn, McCoy wished for a functional tricorder right then. Even he was picking up on a strange odor that made his sinuses twinge. A sliver of recollection rattled in some long-locked file cabinet in his brain. “Does it taste kind of metallic in here to you?”

That rang a bell for Sohja. “Like blood. . .”

He wasn’t getting blood, rather his mind latched onto something related. That old memory broke loose and granted insight. “Liver failure. I only ever came across it this advanced once. Fourth-year med school clinicals at a rural Georgia hospital and an old man was brought in by his neighbors. They hadn’t seen him in a few months. This was the kind of guy who didn’t want any part of the modern world and he lived like a frontiersman. Too much whiskey and not enough medical intervention, and I encountered alcohol-induced cirrhosis for the first time, only it smelled a heck of a lot worse than this.”

“I cannot make a claim as to what illnesses are being experienced by which people. Your professional assessment is appreciated.”

  
  
  
_Failure is not an option_.

That retort rang through Mollie’s head as she and Joe tried a third time to get No. 742 safely to the ground. He recited the checklist and they finally got it landed before the next hurricane-force wind blew them ass-over-teakettle.

“I don’t know about you, but my hands are sweaty, and not because I was having a little self-indulgent fun.”

“Only you, Joe, could say something like that during a time like this.” She flipped the last of the switches to power the shuttle down completely.

“What, so you’re saying you weren’t scared up there?” He wasn’t going to pretend like all was well.

“I was scared shitless, just. . . Can I not hear about your dick or anyone else’s for today? When we’re done with all of this insanity, I will sit through your entire stand-up set on the very topic.” And she would, even if all she could do was roll her eyes and groan instead of laughing.

“Is that a promise, Mollie?” His mood lightened considerably.

“It’s a promise.” She too felt some of Atlas’ burden lift from her shoulders. “The crew of the Enterprise will love it and they need something to laugh about.”

Unharnessed, they moved into the passenger compartment. Sarek looked like he’d been meditating, but he’d been brooding instead. Mollie remembered the ambassador’s comment about T’Pau getting “our children” involved in this labyrinthine scavenger hunt. “Sir, are you ready?”

Joe was right, Sarek was heartbroken, a profound emptiness radiated from him. Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way. He’d affected the right actions and built the corresponding mental walls to protect his boy and it was a massive fiasco.

Not getting a response on that, she tried another question to get the older man to engage. “Through the Kennuk meld, I’m getting that T’Lal and Sha’leyen have come back to the surface. Is that right?”

Head tilting back a few degrees, Sarek said, “Yes, Mallia, that is correct. Mr. Bergman, have you anything on Sohja’s status or whereabouts?”

Not knowing what he was doing for sure, Joe closed an eye, wrinkled his nose, and tried to get his mind to find his t’hy’la. “ _Um. . . no_?”

Mollie extended her hand to Joe. “I’ll help you out. We get her sit rep and then we go back out into this lousy weather.

  
  
  
“Shit, shit, what are we going to do, Morgana?”

She kept an eye on the USS Dragon as its image filled the main viewer.

“This isn’t good, Morgana.”

“Welshie, shut up and let me think.” This was probably the worst possible thing to happen with Laura not on board.

“That’s the ship that was with the one we blew up. I bet the captain over there is real mad.” _Whine, whine, whine_!

Engineer Dobbs had very little patience for the Welshies of the universe. “Fuck off, you spastic little twat.”

A Federation ship up their nose and one, probably several, of Laura’s automatic security programs firing at full blast, Morgana didn’t know how much of this situation or the Sweetness she had control over at the moment. Back in the captain’s chair, she fought against the oversimplified computer former captain, Corliss Fish, had stuck them with. His stupidity and unwillingness to learn how to operate the hardware/software that went with his job was a large part of the reason he was in prison right now.

If she was going to gain access to what Dragon’s attempts at sneaking around set off, this console was the only place she stood a chance of doing so. She logged in again and was immediately reminded why Laura did ninety-nine out of one-hundred computer operations from her office or the hidey-hole she called her garden shed. It was those two terminals that Morgana needed and had no way of using them.

“We are so screwed!” Welshie was not letting up. “ _So fucking screwed_.”

“You say one more goddamned thing and I’ll kick your ass through the bulkhead.” Dobbs was making a guarantee, not a threat.

“Welshie, open a line to Captain Hillyard.” She wasn’t going to get through this without some guidance from the boss. _This_ , Morgana thought, _this is what happens in a power vacuum where someone like Laura can’t rely on a Silvio or a Welshie_. . .

  
  
  
“Oh shit, Sir.” Chris had asked for his headset and kept clawing through the comm console’s intestinal tract. He’d wanted to hear what Sarah found and keep working.

Kuznetsov bent at the waist and looked into the hole partially consuming O’Dell. “Report, Lieutenant.”

“So, I’m still fighting with the physical firewall module down here, but—” He slid out and sat up so all of the captain’s blood didn’t go to her head. “But, I know what Lt. David is documenting.”

“I know from the way you hold your shoulders that we are not going to like what you say.”

“No, Sir.” He swiped a stripe of dust off his tunic. “It’s a clear message that has its origination here in this system. Whoever is trying to send it, they want it to go back to Starbase 21.”

“What does MV Sweetness want at Starbase 21?” Kuznetsov visually consulted her XO and he had nothing.

“That message isn’t coming from Sweetness.” A good steady breath and Chris kept explaining. “It’s Enterprise. Lt. Jon Chavez, media lab king and creep extraordinaire, is trying to get a warning off to Ensign Corpse-fucker—”

“Make better choices about your vocabulary and I won’t say a thing.” She said. “The occasional colorful descriptor is fine.”

Not a true bolloxing, Chris was relieved. “He’s warning Kevin Radovitch that a, am I allowed to quote someone who’s cussing?”

Captain Kuznetsov made a “go ahead” motion with her dominant hand.

“He said, ‘ _A suspicious Vulcan bitch from Advanced Aerospace found the one you told me could never be found. She can hear the difference between the real ones and the fakes. Our whole operation has been compromised because you just couldn’t fucking mind your manners and keep your mind off your dick while hanging around a bunch of dead bodies. Waiting for your rapid reply_.’ That’s it. It’s repeating on a loop right now.”

  
  
  
The screen stated the same message for the third time, thus kicking her out of that part of the system. Morgana shouldn’t have tried to get into the command module without Laura’s assistance, but the captain, the doctor, and that fuck-nut Silvio were not answering repeated summons. “Mr. Dobbs, I can’t get into Laura’s bombproof controls, which we’re going to need just so we can clear out of here for a while and leave Starfleet to sit over there and scratch their asses.”

Salty, Dobbs said, “That fucking Corliss Fish. It’s that asshole’s laziness that’s put us in this whore-licked pickle.”

Happy to have never met the incarcerated Captain Fish, Morgana made her mind stay calm, harnessing just enough of her irritation to stay motivated. “Can you get me in?”

She transferred her screen to his console. Hearing a snort from behind her, she craned around to see Dobbs glowering at the message. “Give me a minute.”

Morgana considered herself to be better than average at operating computers and shaking information from databases, she was nothing close to hacker-level. She thought Dobbs would get it. He’d studied computer science as an undergraduate. That minute turned into nearly forty where he finally let his console have a great whack with the flat of his palm.

“What the—Well, I’ll give the captain this, she’s a smart motherfucker.” Dobbs replaced the image on the big screen with what his terminal was saying. “I know how to get around this, but having to start at ground level to worm my way over, through, under, or blasting a door into it, that’s weeks of non-stop graft. Even if I got five or six of the best computer people aboard to help out, weeks. What you want I should do?”

_UNAUTHORIZED LOGIN—PROCEED ACCORDING TO MENU_

_1.) Command Identification Confirmation_

_2.) ENTRY: Command Code #1_

_3.) ENTRY: Command Code #2_

_4.) CONFIRM_

“Welshie, any luck?” She wasn’t holding out.

“We’re still screwed, Morgana. Captain Dragon Lady, the second she gets her ship’s shit figured out, we are so dead.”

They didn’t have the time to let Dobbs come through.

“Only thing I can suggest is that you get down there with a Portable and a signal amp. Laura has to manually let us in.” Dobbs snorted and pointed a thick finger at Welshie. “Another fucking word out of you and I’m stapling your mouth shut.”

  
  
  
Upon learning Dr. McCoy was dirtside and teamed up with Sohja, Sarek looked more annoyed than Mollie may have ever seen him, discounting dealings with his onerous attache. Where Enterprise’s surgeon thought he was helping matters, it was more likely that he’d get himself and Sohja killed. “The doctor is a stubborn individual.”

“He’s also allergic to sitting on his hands or feeling helpless.” Joe described the medicine man perfectly. “I wouldn’t write him off as a total liability, Sir. He has survived this long on a ship that goes to a lot of wild and wooly places.”

“I’m not going to worry about McCoy.” Mollie said. “It’s what they found in that cave that’s got my warning bells starting to ding. Whoever tore the place up is dangerous. We need to take caution and try to not cross paths with that man.”

“Sohja’s worried.” Joe rubbed his temple.

“Do not buckle and allow her emotions to compromise you, Mr. Bergman.”

“Got it, Sir.”

“Let’s catch up to Spock and Tralnor.” Mollie was the first person off the shuttle.

  
  
  
Getting Sweetness’ cargo transporter to allow her a time delay from hitting energize on the board and leaping onto the pad was proving difficult. Cargo transporters were nowhere near as sophisticated as the ones used by civilians and the state-of-the-art versions Starfleet had made this old rattletrap look like a motorless push lawnmower compared to the satellite-guided automated machines used today.

Liam was usually the transporter guy, but he was still laid up from the beating he took from Des Farmer. That kid needed to be in a convalescent hospital to speed up his recovery. He’d have to wait until they swung back through the Trego system.

Dobbs lumbered into the cargo bay, far less pissy than she thought he’d be. “I should have just come down here with you. Try and do the time delay on this primitive old hulk, you won't get down to the planet to talk to the boss. You’ll wind up torn to bits and fused into the bulkheads.”

“That’s—” She didn’t know what to say other than she wasn’t surprised at that news.

“By the time you were gold-shirting it for Starfleet, they’d long-ago traded up for the much safer shit they use now.” Dobbs went to the base of the transporter pad, slid off a tiny access panel, and handed it off to Morgana.

_Cargo Bay 3/USS Meritorious/NCC 4393_

“Military surplus.” He said. “Hop on and I’ll get you on your way.”

“Well, I’m leaving you in charge while I’m combing the woods for Captain Hillyard.” She stepped up and waited for the familiar light.

  
  
  
Knowing who’d come this way before she did, Morgana wasn’t shocked by the wholesale destruction of the captain’s rig. She unsnapped the holster containing her dreaded Andorian disrupter and crept past the ruined car. “Silvio Mazzi, come out where I can see you.”

Not expecting him to answer, she repeated her demand and heard him scraping around in a part of the cave where she couldn’t see him. “I’m not here to play games.”

“Neither are we.” A Vulcan woman emerged from the shadows, an ancient handgun aimed and ready.

“What’s going on out there, Sohja?” A male, not Silvio, not Dr. Hoskins, asked.

Morgana twitched the fingers on her right hand, trying to determine if she was fast enough to pull her weapon and get off a shot before the Vulcan did the same.

“I do not want to shoot you.” The alien clicked something on the side frame of her gun.

This woman meant business and Morgana wasn’t dumb enough to believe her antagonist was bluffing about pulling the trigger. Not too in love with herself to think she had a chance in this fight, especially as a man in Starfleet science blues joined in the stick-up. Two ancient projectile weapons versus her much deadlier weapon still outgunned her since she’d not live long enough to draw. Hands up, she said, “I don’t want you to shoot me either.”


	144. Chapter 144

Grounded at Spock’s camp by an upswing in the rancid weather, Jim and Billie scrunched in close to the tepid stream of warm-ish air that passed as their vehicle’s heater. The safety systems in their jalopy had decided that it was too dangerous for them to be up in the air and now they were stuck waiting for a break in the storm.

“That’s it, I’m doing something about this.” Kirk was not going to let a government-owned shitbox put a crick in this McCoy quest. He pulled a foot back and kicked the base panel on the console.

She gave him an inquisitive glance when she too was hit by his plan and joined in battering their shuttle. “Popping the governor, I like this idea.”

“I refuse to let this clapped out junker win.” One last kick delivered like a mule taking vengeance on a particularly cruel skinner, and Kirk had access to the so-called brain of the machine.

  
  
  
“Dr. Hoskins?” Veddah held Laura where the vet could see her face. Blood was dripping out of both nostrils.

“Shit.” He combed through his bag of medicinal tricks. “I’ve got to wake her up so she can tell us what she’s feeling.”

“I can make that assessment, doctor. I do not want to disturb her sleep.”

Head shaking to the negative, Hoskins said, “No, you can’t make that assessment, kid.”

“ _A marriage bond_ —”

“No offense, Veddah, but you’ve never been human, so you don’t know what that version of normal is supposed to feel like, above which, you’ve never been female. Only Laura can report on this and get the details right.” Hypospray retrieved, he looked Veddah in the eye before dosing her. “Her clotting cascade is failing because she has extensive damage to her liver. If she’s feeling something is wrong internally, it could be a bleed, and we will have to figure some way of getting her to a full-service hospital.”

“This isn’t Tut’s Tomb.” Laura said as another cough wracked her body so hard she yelped as she struggled for air. Veddah ground his molars as the sharp pain in her left side reached over to him. “I think I just broke a rib.”

Hoskins clenched the empty hypo in his mouth so he had both hands to keep rummaging. The cough started again. “This will help, Captain.”

(I will take all the pain you can send me.) Veddah tried to open up to her for more and was met with her refusal to use him as a dumping ground for her unpleasant experiences.

A muscle relaxer followed by a painkiller, she’d been given enough time to let the medication slow her coughing fit. Still not breathing well, she was put on her feet, Veddah holding her up so the doctor could examine her. Questions were going unanswered, clear thought eluding her, her body wanted to do as these new drugs commanded and go back to sleep.

“Hold on, I’ll bring you around with a little hit of amphetamine.” Resignedly, the vet gave it to her. “Now, you’ve got to tell me everything you’re feeling right this second, everything Laura.”

She let Veddah wipe the blood off her face. “I feel like I’m dying.”

  
  
  
Spock puzzled over Veddah being in love with the one and only Laura Hillyard. “Is it Stockholm Syndrome?”

“It sounds outrageous, but no, he’s not psychologically compromised in that way. He’s struggling with his emotional controls, which we knew already, but he’s not being forced or manipulated into artificial regard for her.” Tralnor grabbed at his left side, an acute pain forcing the wind from his lungs.

“Are you hurt?” Spock held out a hand should Tralnor start to go down. “Do you need help?”

He shook his head to the negative and managed a whisper, “Laura is getting worse. We need to catch up to her and quickly.”

They picked up their rate of travel and chased after the trio.

  
  
  
Sohja refused to grant an opportunity for this intruder to pull a hidden weapon. “Strip.”

“What?”

“Remove your clothing.” She demanded. “Dr. McCoy will check that you are not going to cause us more trouble.”

This girl had some brains and while she didn’t relish following Sohja’s commands, she did as she was told and started to disrobe. McCoy relieved her of her sidearm, set it on the floor, and kicked it away. Jacket and shirt removed, Sohja stopped her.

“Are you injured?” Sohja willed the doctor to investigate this potential wound. Fresh blood, recently dried, was a disturbing sight. Though it was only an extremity bleed, it was not a fortuitous sign.

“It’s nothing recent.” The thin, long-sleeved, thermal base-layer went up and over her head.

“God almighty.” McCoy expounded then pulled a torch to get a detailed look at the multitude of scars pocking her arms and torso.

“What are we seeing?” Sohja had no way to mentally process what she was looking at and give it a name. None of the craters was smaller in diameter than twenty-five millimeters.

“All healed over.” The human woman wasn’t buying in on McCoy’s concern.

Sohja took the scant data available, posited it with her own memories and experiences, and extrapolated a possible cause for the woman’s marred skin. “Cigar burns?”

“I can see where you’d think that, but no, not cigar burns.”

McCoy began lifting limbs and looking behind bra straps and buckles. “She’s just about been eaten alive by Portolian Bot Fly larvae. Hundreds of them, in different waves, by the look of things.”

“I am unfamiliar with said organisms.” Sohja encroached to see the healed wounds better.

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” McCoy said. “They’re giant disgusting maggots with an appetite for mammalian flesh. How did you wind up with these, let alone multiple infestations?”

“Starfleet.” She let him redress the bloodied old lesion. “I was at one time a Lieutenant aboard a resupply ship.”

He patted the ex-officer down. “She’s clean.”

“The bot flies were a gift from my bunkmate.” The stranger gave a simplified version of her life’s story so they knew who she was, where she was from, and what she was doing in that cave. That this woman’s life was ruined because she voiced a real concern about health and cleanliness was anathema to the Starfleet Sohja knew.

“You may put your clothing back on.” Sohja assessed the situation as safe enough at the moment to reholster her firearm.

McCoy grumbled something unintelligible before saying, “You know, it wouldn’t take much to fade those scars. I could have you in and out in as little as three sessions.”

“Lt. Ryan wants those scars so that people are forced to contend with the reality of cramped shipboard living situations instead of the recruitment brochure version.”

Morgana confirmed Sohja’s take on the state of her hide. “In the right light, you can still see the ones on my face and neck that were removed as well as possible.”

“Not to blow my own horn, but I think—”

“I appreciate your kindness and concern, Dr. McCoy. You don’t need to waste your time on a washed-up has-been.” She gratefully donned her coat. “You’re looking for Laura and Veddah, I’m looking for them too. When we find them you can arrest me, shoot me, send me on my way, I don’t really care anymore. . .”

“I am here on behalf of T’Pau of Vulcan and Federation President Jennifer Cullen. As such, I do not have the authority to apprehend you.” Sohja let the young woman have a moment. “However, my traveling companion is well within his scope of duty to take you into custody.”

“Right now, let’s not worry about the trivial things. Finding your boss and her prisoner is paramount. She obviously needs a good doctor.” Morgana confirmed McCoy’s claim. “What else can you tell Sohja and I about this Silvio prick who did the redecorating around here?”

  
  
  
Since they’d emerged from the millennia-old repository, T’Lal had not reholstered her Beretta. Sha’leyen made the wise decision to copy the part-time captain. Until they’d settled in on Pezig’s Gate, the Belonite had never used a weapon of this type and had just enough practice that she didn’t think she’d accidentally blow her toes off or kill someone in an accident.

“Do you hear that?” T’Lal planted her feet and put a modern rifle scope to her right eye.

“Approaching shuttles, at least two.” She looked in the general direction of the noise and willed them to fly over and not add any more incendiary human ordinance to this tense situation.

Scope down, T’Lal turned to address Sha’leyen. “Through a slight break in the cloud cover, I counted three shuttles and a monopod. There may be more hidden in the vapor. They appear to have some connection to law enforcement as I can see blue flashing lights.”

“This has gotten out of hand. I want to capture Laura, launch the tavalik duv-tor into the spring, and shed this place like a snakeskin.”

“Can you offer an explanation for the cops’ arrival?”

Sha’leyen took her Met prospective and overlaid it with her Pezig’s Gate experiences. “They probably think we found and are covering up a gold vein and that we’re trying to screw them out of the money.”

“A very human motivation.” T’Lal commented. “Such driving force is not unexpected in a place like this.”

Visions of Lincoln Preston and his filthy table manners made Sha’leyen want to scowl, but she held fast. “With what we saw down there, it is to our great advantage that Ambassador Sarek is with us and can immediately stake a legal claim on the hoard, this city, and possibly the entire prison complex.”

“May the wisdom of Kotekru Kaylara show them the error in their current actions and take them to safety.” T’Lal exchanged her handgun for the long rifle she’d slung across her back.

“Yes, let the Queen watch over and bless us all.”

  
  
  
McCoy wrenched another few morsels out of this Morgana Ryan as she and Sohja sorted through the ruined belongings in the cave’s sleeping quarters. “Did you piss someone off to such an extreme that’s what caused you to get gone from Starfleet?”

“I can’t be sure and even if I learned the whole truth, it’s not like it matters. Nothing changes. I’m still here, kicking my way through Laura’s stuff and getting Silvio’s piss all over my boots.” She wasn’t defeatist, just aligned with a plane called reality. “Dr. McCoy, you can’t treat that thing like a standard Type-II phaser. I’ve got it adjusted with a hair-trigger and the only settings are painfully mangled or feeling the molecular structure of your cells ripping apart as your consciousness tells you you’re being vaporized.”

“Veddah has nothing here that even suggests he is Vulcan.” Sohja held the doctor’s gun as the Andorian shooter was secured in his sachel. “Lt. Ryan, does Captain Hillyard have Veddah disguised as a human?”

McCoy thought that sounded reasonable. _Make the kid look human and he’d be absolutely forgettable_. “It sounds like she’s been trying to keep him mostly safe and completely alive.”

“I don’t know if she’s got him passing as one of us, but if it’s the best way she could come up with to protect him, she’d do it.” Morgana took to the next mound of destruction. “I think he’s the one thing that was truly missing from Laura’s life. . . She’s changed since—”

“A description of this change, Lt. Ryan?” Powder and projectile killing machine returned to the doctor, Sohja did not return to her leaned over position. The look for evidence here was through.

“One night not long ago, she said something to me, but I didn’t hear all of it clearly. The approximate quote is, ‘Killing him would have been more merciful than what I’ve done.’” The human woman pulled back the bedding. “Another prize from that fucktard Silvio.”

More raunchy urine soaked the sleeping bag on what McCoy automatically assumed was Veddah’s side of the bed. “With everything you’ve told us, Silvio is just the kind you want to take home to your mother.”

Morgana dropped the sleeping bag. “And he honestly wonders why Laura has kicked him out of her bed, out of the chain of command, and practically cut him entirely out of her life. If he weren’t ridiculously armored by his daddy’s money, he’d have been removed from Sweetness years ago.”

“We need—” Sohja lost focus on the cave and all it contained, both living and dead.

Rapid eye movement between the doctor and the Vulcan, Morgana was immediately worried. “Is she okay?”

Sohja’s head moved like she was caught out in the middle of a heated discussion. The Starfleet man said, “What I think we’ve got here is a good old case of radio interference.”

“I’m not following you, Dr. McCoy.”

“There’re some powerful psions down here right now and at least one of them is tapped directly into her brain and talking.” _More Vulcan woo-woo to make my head swim_ , McCoy thought.

“But touch telepaths have to be touching you for things to work, right?” Morgana was horrified and fascinated by the process unfolding in front of her. “ _Vulcans are just touch telepaths_. . .”

“A few pack a bigger wallop than you’re familiar with.” The only thing he and Morgana could do was wait for this contact to end and figure out where to expand their search to.

Sohja touched her forehead. “Joe, that is not how this—”

“Uh-oh.” That was the last person the doctor would have given as a wild guess as to who’d gotten in touch with her. “What the green-blooded devil is Hollywood Hawaiian Shirt doing on the other end of this thing?”

“ _You are not listening, Joe_. . .”

“Joe is a human?” Morgana made a nope motion.

“He’s a movie producer.” He said, like that explained anything.

Mouth open to ask what that meant, Morgana didn’t reply. She and McCoy observed Sohja instead.

“If you are not willing or able to present information in a cogent manner, I cannot understand the directive as handed down from Sarek and T’Lal.” Finally, signs of comprehension showed in her body language. “Yes, Joe, same to the three of you: FTFO and guard against disaster.”

“You done with your phone call my fine Vulcan operative?” McCoy got his question lobbed before her head was invaded again. “I got to say, that was a little freaky. Joe’s a lot of things, but a telepath isn’t one of them.”

“He is when he has kilotons of outside help to ride our th’y’la bond right into my head.”

“I’m not even going to ask how that works.” This wasn’t the first or last time he’d throw his metaphorical hands up in the air in response to Vulcans. As he’d said earlier, why did he bother with them?

“That is good, doctor.” The space inside her skull exclusively hers again. “If you wanted to know, I could not tell you much beyond the vaguest details.”

“Vulcan mysticism bites again.” It was time to give up on ever understanding these people who looked a lot like the Tinkerbell fairy for whom Sohja was named. “No humans allowed in the tree fort, am I right?”

“No.” She offered no elaboration.

 _Of course she said no_! McCoy should have known.

Morgana appeared desperate for this to wrap up.

“Dr. McCoy, I cannot give you information that I do not have.”

He considered her words and sprouted a satisfied grin. “I don’t believe it, a Vulcan who doesn’t know the answers to life, the universe, and everything.”

“You are pushing what your people refer to as luck.” Sohja countered.

“This is a day that will live long in my memory.” He dropped his jovial mood when Sohja stopped their back-and-forth, probably too inane for her developed sensibilities.

“Doctor, Lt. Ryan, I know where we must go to seek Captain Hillyard.”


	145. Chapter 145

_Fuck the rain_! Silvio thought. Now, that he’d been out in it again for a good ten minutes, the freezing-ass cloud piss was coming down harder than when he’d first set foot on this hayseed planet. Growing up on Trego Delta, he was accustomed to the steamy fug of jungle and multiple short rain showers or thunderstorms a day. This bitter cold was soul-breaking.

“I always thought you were a hero, Laura. I fell for your lies, that you were on our side. You were the fucking Golden Girl! Every AVDL man’s dream, on all the posters, all the ads, and you’ve betrayed every single fucking one of us. We supported you, we loved you, we looked up to you, and then you had what, a crisis of fucking conscious?” Waterlogged ground tried to suction off his left boot. “Fuck!”

Forward momentum hyper-extended that knee and he was within a hair's breadth of face-planting into the mud. He managed to keep his balance about him and slowly moved where he could carefully sink his foot back into place. By paying attention to what he was doing, he broke out of the minor quagmire and continued his trek up the hill.

Booty carried beneath his arm like the cool guys did with their school padds and tablets when he was a kid, Silvio let his thoughts temporarily move away from Laura and begin on a fantasy shopping spree. He was now an independently wealthy man! The diamonds he whisked away from that cave were his springboard into a better life, one where he was respected and listened to because that’s what money did for a person.

Wheezing, sometimes fighting to catch his breath, he was having issues with the cold, wet, air. The climate of whatever planet he settled on could not be anything like this. He added blue seas and white sand beaches to the scene he constructed, and the cherry on top, wherever this place was, he’d have a staff of gorgeous women and each one of them would have an amazing set of tits. . .

“That’s what a winning attitude will get—”

He didn’t lose his boot this time and it wasn’t the mud trying to smash him into the floor, he was stomping along one second and falling the next. Some sort of precipice had given way, chucking him off the trail. Then, where he thought he’d come to an undignified halt, get up, and scale this minor peak again, he understood that he’d already hit the ground, more than once, and was a boulder smacked by the hand of god and captured by that colluder, gravity.

  
  
  
Ranger Mason asked Sgt. Rusk to evaluate the cloud of Government Use Only shuttles the short scan said were within ten kilometers in front of them. “Who the hell are those guys?”

“Fucked if I know.” Rusk keyed his passwords into the onboard law enforcement central data link. “You didn’t tell anyone besides me that you were wanting to go after George Sharpe?”

“No, I did not.” Had the conditions been better, Mason would have smashed the throttle and caught up to the mystery cadre. “And as far as I know, there’s only three people out in the vicinity of that fucking creepy dead city. You shouldn’t need a small army to round them up.”

“‘Fucking creepy,’ is you being nice, right?” Rusk waited on Pezig’s internal bureaucratic computer network to dredge up the details he wanted. “I’ve only ever been out there twice. I never used to believe in ghosts until I got this job. You can be completely alone and you know they’re staring at you, waiting for you to fuck up, so they know when to attack. . .”

“ _Huh_?”

“Let’s just say that Vulcans are better off today with all their hang-ups and bizarre code of behavior because what they used to be was nasty, brutal, and completely depraved.” Frustrated, Rusk decided since they weren’t pursuing a suspect that he’d skip the computer and comm ahead to the forward party. “Oh, shit—You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Mason nearly asked his superior for an explanation when a short, canned message played over their shuttle’s integrated sound system.

“ _Minister of the Interior Lincoln Ezra Portman is not accepting outside inquiries at this time. Contact Minister Portman’s office manager at_ —”

“That’s a very bad omen.” Mason wanted to turn around but knew he couldn’t leave a potentially gravely injured man to wander about the forest.

“That corrupt bastard never comes out here and actually does his job.” Rusk switched the comm off. “Something’s rotten at Wrigley’s and it’s not the crotches on all the whores.”

  
  
  
“Got it!” Kirk whooped and clapped his right hand on the dash. “Our built-in babysitter is now hogtied and blindfolded.”

Billie got that rattletrap powered up and ready for liftoff in record time. “Kirk-One. Car-Zero.”

“Let’s go find my doctor, assuming he hasn’t gotten himself accidentally killed.”

“What about other business, Prince Charming?” The car hummed and engaged air mode.

“That other business. . . I think I’ve tempered myself not to expect a miracle. There’s a lot of work if I’m going to have any involvement with Spock.” He buckled the safety harness. “And I’m ready to learn the routine and happy to do whatever it takes.”

“Ooooh.” She jiggled her shoulders. “You’re giving me the chills.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it means you’ve moved to a more mature headspace and that was one of the biggest missing elements on your behalf. You’re the only one who could have convinced you.” She took them up, storm rattling them around only meters above terra firma. “There’s hope for the both of you yet.”

  
  
  
Laura’s head quit its toilful spinning and she no longer wanted to puke from the dizziness. The hardcore drug cocktail Hoskins pumped into her body was a bolus of Dutch courage, a short-term solution to a deadly game. “I think I can stand on my own. Give me a chance.”

Neither of the men wanted to let go of her. The blazing pain from the injured rib was more of a dull rankle with the painkillers fooling her brain into thinking she wasn’t on the verge of tipping over. Mind set, objectives of finding the box and getting out of there still the only things she wanted to accomplish, she took her first foal-like steps along their northerly heading.

She managed to keep her equilibrium. Their progress back to the cache would be slow, but the reward was worth it. Laura was thinking about how she and Veddah would have to keep Hoskins with them for a short while longer so she could follow-through on her promise and give him that new identity. The AVDL wouldn’t give much of a shit about losing the vet. He wasn’t a high roller in the Party. The upper administration and leadership were convinced that everyone with half a brain wanted in on the human supremacist scene. They thought they’d put out an ad and scoop a new doctor immediately.

Veddah couldn’t be bothered to hide his fear for her. His exhaustion and frayed constitution wouldn’t hold up much longer as his confrontations with Silvio proved. Laura had to get him to Livia MacCormack, who was the only person in the Vulcan or human medical fields capable of saving him. Why Laura made that claim wasn’t obvious to her, but it was a truth she felt in her bones.

One-hundred-and-fifty meters closer to the steam-belching not-lake, the staccato of rain was joined by the melody of a man-made vehicle. The same ShuttleDirect craft she and Veddah had observed for days now was coming in for a landing, effectively blocking Laura and her party from advancing. Ready to confront Spock, Tralnor, and Mollie, she gave honest thought to charging the shuttle and attacking it with her bare hands. Laura’s belligerence rushed to the surface, overtaking her other emotions. She took the best breath she could and waited for the passengers to disembark so she might shout and accuse, perhaps causing a large enough distraction to hijack No. 742 to get her party and the box out of there.

“Adun’a, it is not in your best interest to enter into conflict with these people.” Veddah had a good head on his shoulders despite her poisoning him. “I ask that you not confront them.”

She had to ignore Veddah for the moment. The harsh regard she’d interjected into the embryonic tirade bubbling behind her eyes tripped and toppled. It was all Laura had in her to stay upright. Glaring ahead, flabbergasted by the scene playing out, she looked at a black fatigue-clad blond man, human, stepping off into the hellscape of the old pre-Reform prison. “Who the fuck is that?”

  
  
  
Mollie saw the trio approaching through the mists before Joe registered them. To the back of his head, she said, “Paydirt.”

“Hooray?” Joe’s tepid response at least showed he was side-stepping his general demeanor and employing caution. “You suppose she’s got that 9mm she used to kill all those Starfleet people?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Mollie stepped off, joining her friend in the elements. Sarek chose to linger at the shuttle, not sharing with Mollie what was on his mind.

This far away, Mollie couldn’t hear anything from Sweetness’ captain and former adolescent foe. “Let’s go see if we can’t talk to her and have one of the others get the drop on her.”

“What? Mollie, she’s a homicidal maniac. She’s not just going to want to talk to us. I think she’s going to try and kill us.” Astounded, Joe grasped her by the arm. “I don’t suppose you’re joking?”

“Laura will always talk even as she’s raising the blade on the guillotine.” Mollie consulted her memory of the last time she’d encountered this woman. The day before Laura pulled her vanishing act, she’d stalked Spock and Mollie through the open-air market and scowled as they’d gotten themselves a meal. Sometime while they were eating, Laura disappeared, not reappearing on Mollie’s radar until a few weeks ago. She wondered if the belligerent human been trying to tell them something important that might have kept her off the route of racist destruction?

“Oh, god.” Joe’s resolve frayed, not yet unraveling.

“Our backs are covered.” Mollie didn’t draw a weapon or square her shoulders, no physical demonstration of aggression allowed. She set off toward the group, calmly, as though this was a meeting with a long-lost relative she wasn’t entirely sure about.

“Sarek isn’t going to—”

“He’s got us, Joe.”

“ _Fuck me_.” Joe, still attached to Mollie’s arm followed along.

  
  
  
Attention diverted from incoming law enforcement, Sha’leyen and T’Lal watched as No. 742 circled and finally landed. “That was pretty good for a couple of novices at the controls.”

“They were good students.” T’Lal consulted her Kennuk meld, not sharing with Sha’leyen the contents of that interaction until the full encounter concluded. “Your Dr. McCoy has come down uninvited. Sohja has him right now.”

“That’s—” Sha’leyen wasn’t going to say something disparaging about the CMO.

“Sohja has not sent him away. Is he capable of keeping his head together should this go bad?” T’Lal clearly didn’t like this news.

“While he can be short-tempered, entirely without logic of any kind, and overly reactive to tense scenarios, Leonard is who you want taking care of you in a place like this.” Sha’leyen didn’t always follow McCoy’s impulsive and sometimes non-linear thinking, but him being here was not detrimental. “He will save lives down here today.”

Scope aimed toward the clouds, T’Lal scanned the sky and the much closer landing zone. “They are not visible, but I sense Laura Hillyard is very near. The boy is extensively melded into her mind, as we suspected. A third person is with them and all I can glean about him is that he is very afraid.”

Sha’leyen let her brain lap up some relief that part of this was nearly over.

  
  
  
Hacking and spitting out the mouthful of mud, rocks, and tree litter Silvio sucked up on his spin down the incline, he struggled to regain enough balance to rise to his feet. He growled at the hapless ground squirrel thing that poked its head out to chatter at him. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m a fuck-up too.”

Frightened, the critter disappeared. “That’s right, you run, and keep running. If I see you again, I’ll stomp you, like the mice that used to overrun our town.”

Stomping mice, that’s probably where Silvio’s appreciation for pain and suffering was born. Every few years, great tidal waves of rodents would overtake Imelda Parish, and no one’s home or livelihood was safe. Even his father’s elaborate palace didn’t escape the pestilence. Once Silvio was old enough not to be afraid of the writhing masses of tiny grey bodies, he took his cues from the domestic staff, dad’s drivers, and the security personnel who never let those things get to them. He learned by witnessing the trampling. The feeling of dainty skulls rupturing beneath his boots like he’d trod on a bunch of grapes was his first real taste of power and he liked that omnipotence. Soon, it wasn’t enough just to quickly dispatch mice, he dragged it out, enjoying their diminutive screams and reactions to the terror he inflicted.

It wasn’t until he’d left the enclave-like social atmosphere on Trego Delta and moved to Chicago for his undergraduate studies that he saw and experienced the dilution and destruction of humans, their cultures, and their homeworld by the likes of Vulcans, Hoblians, and those warthog-looking Telarites. Silvio started to shift what he’d applied to the animals during his younger years over to the animals who’d bum-rushed into the Sol sector from their shithole planets.

Back in the present, he looked around for the box he’d lost his hold on. Of course. Pissed off that he had this new disruption to his escape, he hoped to find it fast, but if reclaiming his diamonds meant he was out in the rain all night, he’d take it.

He started by crawling up the hill, doing everything to not let his injured hand thump against the floor, hoping to see the path his diamonds took when they got knocked loose. Three gopher-things emerged to curse him, reminding him once again of his younger days. That first year of university, he tried to play nice, not letting the truncation of his rights and liberty at the cost of granting more of said things to a subversive population of Off-World Losers whose only goal was to quietly rid the earth of its native inhabitants.

His reintroduction to power came on the day his juried entry in the freshman art show was edged out of the grand prize category by an ugly pile of hairballs and colored string one of his non-human classmates regurgitated in place of a tasteful entry. Angry, he’d started on a night of roaming the streets of Chicago’s famous downtown. He thought he’d blow off some steam by getting laid, met up with a pretty blue-skinned rent boy at a dance club, and took him to a hotel room for the next three days. The police would later tell the press that they were investigating a murder wherein the victim was Andorian, and had been bound, gagged, as well as repeatedly sodomised with random objects while he was slowly mutilated until his heart gave out. “And those dumb fucking Chicago pigs still don’t know it was me. . .”

Silvio began retracing his trajectory, eyes peeled for his diamonds, some of the tightness and heat revisited his groin at the examination of those old memories. “Oh, Laura, I think I’ve figured it all out. I’m going to give you a front-row seat while I do to your Vulcan what I did to that Chicago alien. When I’m finished, you’ll have a choice: Join me for the fun or join him as I ready him for a hole in the ground. Your green-blooded friend will learn the true definition of rape.”

There was no sign of the box, as the sound of approaching shuttles cut through the ambient noise. Silvio dived to the floor, biting a sleeve to temper the pain from that injured extremity. If he wanted those stones, he knew it was for the best that he be allowed to keep to his own devices.


	146. Chapter 146

Laura dragged herself closer to the two new humans. She’d warned Veddah and Hoskins off. The vet immediately made to charge after her and was held back. “Doctor, she insists that Mollie will not start anything.”

“I don’t believe that for one fucking second and you shouldn’t either. I hope you can sprint like a gazelle.” Hoskins’ lack of faith was built on a lifetime of being used, lied to, and pushing back against his fellow humans. “This is going to devolve into a knuckle-dusting prize fight.”

“I do not doubt that Mollie is capable of fighting, however, as a Vulcan, she will avoid resorting to violence if it at all possible.”

“It’s not this Mollie girl that I’m talking about.” One of Hoskins’ hands went up, blotting out the sky, tapering down on his panic. “I’ve worked for Laura long enough to have seen her through a fracas or three. Mollie better not have a glass jaw because the captain never pulls her punches.”

There were times when his wife seemed devoted to rational thought. He’d believed this was one of those instances, initially. “My adun’a will remain calm even though she is shouting and gesticulating at someone. The only way that changes is if she believes I am being threatened.”

“Then this isn’t going to end well.” Hoskins almost put a hand on Veddah’s shoulder as condolence, stopping before he made contact. “Fuck, I’m— If she loses her cool and thinks she can brawl her way out, then this is it. It’s over.”

“She will die.” Veddah allowed the human to follow through with his aborted gesture.

“I’m sorry. . .”

  
  
  
Mollie’s mind was close enough that Spock found her of his own volition. What he got in terms of an update on the others was a cluster of high and low points. Dr. McCoy, being his typically nosey self had beamed down under the false assumption that he was there to help. T’Lal and Sha’leyen were done with the vault and Sarek was guarding Mollie’s six. She’d beaten him and Tralnor to be the first of them to tangle with Laura. If past interaction and animosity was anything to judge by, the knives would come out soon enough.

Spock warned, “Tralnor, we must hurry.”

Tralnor, bent over, palms against the squishy ground, sent out filaments of his mind, seeking to know more about the conflict they were rushing toward. “It’s a good thing we’ve been prepared for the worst.”

The Vulcans picked up their pace and rushed toward the endgame.

  
  
  
Chris had to step aside and let Kuznetsov’s engineers take a whack at module removal. Sarah remained dialed into the signal broadcasting from the Enterprise. In the previous hour, there had been two more short messages from that scummy weasel, Lt. Chavez.

Still idle, Dragon was taking flak from Pezig’s Gate’s transport admins. Why was their ship not moving or talking to anyone? She didn’t have an answer and prayed that Pezig’s had a magic code they could punch into a remote and make the Starfleet vessel’s gag go away.

“I’m just glad Hillyard isn’t trying to shoot us out of the sky like she did to Seren.” That was the latest in a thread of comments from a young Red Shirt trying to chat her up a little. It was an inopportune time to hit on anyone, especially someone who was a Vulcan’s significant other.

“Hey, security guy, back away, and nothing crazy will happen.” Chris tried to warn off the young ensign.

A bit incensed and suffering from the stress of their current dilemma, he probably thought O’Dell was being a gargantuan dick by shitting all over his attempt to soothe shattered nerves by hitting on a pretty girl. “I wasn’t aware that Lt. David belonged to you.”

He stopped an eye roll but not the head shake telling one and all that he thought Security Guy was brain dead. Chris, a high-level multitasker, switched comm channels with the turn of a knob before saying, “I’m not the one you have to worry about.”

 _Whatever_ , seen in body language rather than heard, Security Guy was not amused.

“It’s him.” Chris singled out the man on the science station.

“What’s your problem, Lieutenant O’Dell?” Security Guy was confused about the relationship dynamic between the pale human, Vulcan, and olive-skinned curly-haired Sarah.

“The Krampus is a salty one and doesn’t appreciate it when other guys are sniffing around his girl. We’re working with him on that—”

“Cut the chatter.” Cosgriff diffused the pissing contest.

No objections, Chris focused on the device in his ear. He listened for about a minute then brought Sarah in on his newest find. She had a hard time hearing as the engineers pounded on the hardware below the communications board. O’Dell pointed to her after she’d gotten an earful. “Do you have a take on this, Lt. David?”

“It’s not like the other one. Is it supposed to sound muffled?” It was like trying to figure out what people were saying through a wall. “All I know is that it’s a conversation, not just a one-way message.”

“Can you peel back the layers, O’Dell?” Cosgriff was interested in this new development and left Kuznetsov to keep talking to the engineers.

“Not until they can bust that module out and get me wired around it. I’m hoping Sarah can figure out what’s being said.” Chris came over to her station and started to do his magic with the sliders. “I’ll clean up what I can.”

Seltun gave the next lifeform reading and looked at his companions. “Might you patch me in, Chris? I am not as discerning as your equipment, but my hearing covers a different range than yours.”

“Do it, O’Dell.” Kuznetsov directed.

Sarah watched her boyfriend as his brain made sense of this input.

“Lt. David is correct.” Seltun said. “This is a muffled conversation. Is this the live feed?”

“No, you’ve got the playback running through some filters.”

“Start the segment over.”

“Fabulous.” Chris shook Sarah’s chair. “The Krampus has something.”

Hand up indicating Chris should stop the recording, Seltun asked a question. “Do we know anything about a Trego Delta Charters and Haulage ship, Merchant Vessel Woebegone?”

“ _Shit_.” Cosgriff sniped.

“It’s one of MV Sweetness’ litter-mates.” Kuznetsov didn’t betray her feelings but was probably most unenthused about this ship. “Captained by an ex-Starfleet man, Howard Francis Mbele.”

Seltun gave a slight nod. “MV Woebegone has dropped out of warp and is on approach to the docks.”

Kuznetsov didn’t acknowledge the news. Rather, she called the lift car and evacuated the bridge for parts unknown.

Donell Cosgriff went down in front of the main viewer where he’d be seen and heard by all stations. “Howard Mbele was thrown out of Starfleet and served a prison sentence before joining up with this group of human supremacist weirdos.”

“What does that have to do with Kuznetsov?” Security Guy wondered out loud.

“He was sent away for getting one of his men killed, negligent homicide, since that’s all the evidence that could be brought against him. He only got five years.” Cosgriff cleared his throat. “What really happened is that Mbele murdered Andrei Pavlov. Andrei was Lyudmila’s husband.”

  
  
  
Aware of the sound of a single pair boots squishing about on the saturated ground, Spock doubled back for Tralnor. He recognized the hazy look on the younger man’s face. “What is wrong?”

“Something is surrounding us.”

Spock scanned the ground they’d already covered but Tralnor shook his head.

“It’s nothing you can see. . .”

“Tralnor, details?” Spock was unnerved and previous experiences with the hyper-empath’s claims of this nature tempered him for hellish revelations.

“I don’t know as it’s alive or dead.” Pupils unfocused, Tralnor faced the southward ground they’d covered. “But, it seeks vengeance.”

Walloped by a surprise odor, a dark variety of revolting bilge blossoming on his tongue, Spock tamped down the sudden need to throw up. That’s when he remembered the earlier description, that the tavalik duv-tor tastes like death.

“Like in the Bradbury novel, the lightning rod salesman has come to town.” Tralnor began.

Acid rose in Spock’s gullet. “Mr. Dark is upon us.”

  
  
  
Escaped tendrils of drenched hair stuck to the side of Mollie’s face, the gales whipping it about. She ignored the intermittent stings and got far enough away from No. 742 to grant Laura some confidence that this was not an attempt at an immediate arrest and lockdown.

Laura struggled over the relatively flat ground but eventually made it to this intermediate destination. “What are you so fucking shocked about, Mollie? You’ve never been a reactionary.”

“We knew you were sick, but this—” Ashen, emaciated, anemic, the Russian beauty Mollie once knew was gone.

Confident, even as she knelt at death’s door, Laura let off with one of her signature scowls which let Mollie see more of the pirate’s yellowed sclera. “Don’t lie and pretend like you’re concerned for me, please. It reflects poorly on your perceived good character.”

 _What the hell_? Joe, close to hand, on Mollie’s right, projected his disquiet about this dying pirate.

(Roll with it for right now, Joe.) Mollie, internally bristling, her subconscious ejecting insults and other fighting words toward her mouth, made a herculean effort at not sniping back and allowing this to degenerate into a repeat confrontation from their teen years. Pissing Laura off might lead to a young man’s death. For everyone’s good, Mollie had to keep it together. “You need medical attention, so does Veddah, and if you come with us, you’ll be seen to immediately.”

“I’ve got a doctor, thank you. He’s standing right back there with the boy. As far as you need to be concerned, I’m not here to lock horns with you and the three other mutants you came out here with.” Spine straightened, chin lifted, she said, “I’m here for one tiny trifle. Once I get it, I’m going to disappear so completely that it will be like I never existed. Bully for you on that one.”

Always trying to bounce off the back foot when dealing with this woman, Mollie needed something convincing enough that Laura would stand down without struggle. “You’re not going to disappear. Your connection with Veddah won’t let you.”

“You know nothing, Mollie. So, if you and your minion can step aside, I’m looking for something and you’re in my damned way.” The glare wasn’t harsh, it was focused, demonstrating urgency and an unwillingness to consider alternatives to her own plan.

“Look, Captain Hillyard.” Joe knew his comment probably wasn’t going to be appreciated, but it gave enough of a break to unwind some of the underlying tension between the women. “I don’t know you from a hole in the ground and I’ve got all the medical training god gave a snail. Even I can tell that you’re not doing so hot and that if you go down, you’re going to take Lt. Veddah out with you.”

“We only want to help, Laura.” Mollie figured she might scrape together an appeal to the remnants of humanity still adhered to Laura’s black heart and get her to give up on Pezig’s Gate. Mollie tried to employ compassion of the kind that might have stopped the deadly human supremacist phenomena standing before her from coalescing into wickedness had they gotten along as kids. “We want to help you and Veddah. Nufau gol’nev rik’fnu’ven, katau sochya svi’os-hafalar. ”

“ _Epistolary of Surak, Volume Nine, Letter Twenty-two_ , ‘Offer help without scorn, bringing peace between old foes.’ I don’t have time for any more farcical Vulcan bullshit. The only thing you want to help is helping yourself to whatever bounty has been posted on my head. Fuck you and your fake concern.”

 _Do not bite back_ , Mollie thought. “I don’t know why you’ve gotten Veddah this far, but it would be criminal if you shunted him now and he lost his grip on sanity because he’s depending on you. Shattering his mind—”

“You’ve said enough.”

“Laura, you’re an intelligent person. At least have the sense to let me, let someone, assume the life support meld you’ve got with him so when you do drop dead, that you’re not shorting out his brain and killing him. You’ve only got a few hours left if you keep refusing our medical and psiopsychological aid. Let us give you a chance at surviving this.” Waiting on what should have been a rapid laser-fire comeback significantly bothered Mollie. The human supremacist, as invincible as she tried to be, was operating at a fraction of her normal potency. “I have a Ph.D. in neuropsi and I’m a T’Kehr—”

“ _Blah, blah, blah, Queen Kaylara, blah, blah_.” Hunkered down in a too-large parka that must have fit until recently, shivering in the absence of her own natural insulation, she almost didn’t have the energy to look Mollie in the eye. “Spare me the recitation of your CV. No matter how trained or how many degrees you’ve got, you’re not assuming jack shit from me. _Veddah is mine_.”

Joe scowled and jumped in and choked on his big fat foot. “You know, slavery is not an accepted institution in the Federation.”

“Get fucked, Blondie.” Right hand emerging from a cuff, Laura pointed to Mollie. The long blue metallic nails were delaminating and broken off at the quick. “I will repeat for those who are hard of hearing and short on brain cells: Veddah is mine.”

“Laura, you obviously care for him. Don’t squander this opportunity to save him.” It was getting harder for Mollie to stay civil. “He’s got one, probably more, brain injuries from the trauma he’s been through. Let me take over the meld and that way you’ll have more of your own resolve to try and get through this.”

“I won’t let you or anyone take him away from me.” The old ferocity glimmered beneath the disease process burning through the fog shrouding her mind. “Now that we’re done with this conversation, I’ve got a box to find and you can kiss what’s left of my ass.”

Acting in a socially acceptable manner wasn’t working. Mollie had had more productive interaction with the cats that used the Big House’s tractor barn as their castle. “What benefit could you possibly get from snuffing that kid? I know you hate Vulcans with everything you’ve got, but your grievance isn’t with Veddah, he’s innocent in all this. Your issue is with the people who sabotaged your life in ShiKahr. . . myself included.”

Hillyard tried to walk off, weak knees and bad balance close to knocking her off her feet. Arms out to the side though there was no tightrope, she didn’t make it past Mollie. Laura tried to bypass her obstacle, but Mollie was healthy and blocked every attempt at regaining forward momentum. “I’m done with you and your golden retriever.”

“Golden retriever, that’s cute.” Joe said. “Really, it is. What’s not cute is you offing yourself because you’re afraid for Veddah. I don’t know what is going on between you and him and it doesn’t matter, not to me, not to Mollie, not to any of us. This is your _only_ opportunity to crawl out of the fire and save what’s most important to you.”

The toll of staying upright was further extracted every minute she lingered with Mollie and Joe. So hindered was she by this affliction that she couldn’t talk and walk at the same time. Her voice, almost lost to the sound of the rain, had lost its edge. “I don’t want to hurt Veddah, not more than I already have.”

Relieved that this confrontation was proving anticlimactic, Mollie offered what incentive she could. “Until we get things figured out for Veddah, we’re not locking you up and throwing away the keys. We’re not even wanting to arrest you. All you’ve got to do is come with us, get treatment, and cooperate with reasonable requests.”

“We’re not separating you from him, at least not until Livia meets up with our motley bunch.” Joe, more personable than Mollie, kept at the good bits of this exchange.

“He needs Livia. . .” Laura said to herself. “He _needs_ her.”

“By accepting this help, as of this moment, you and Veddah are officially my mother’s patients. As such, you’re under the protection of the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps, until you’re both medically and psychiatrically stable.”

“No cops, no Starfleet security, no V’Shar jumping out of the woods to mow me down. If they’ve been called, cancel the order, tell them to turn their asses around because I know of too many ways that they can justifiably kill me by building on the lie that I resisted arrest.”

“The only agency you’re dealing with is the Diplomatic Corps.” Mollie was ready to melt into a puddle of relief that some sense had penetrated Laura’s head.

Seeming less like she wanted to pummel her way out of this and continue on the trail of a box she didn’t know contained distilled evil, Laura tacked on some stipulations. “I climb into that rig with you and you’re not taking my transgressions out on Veddah. None of this shit is his fault. No aiding and abetting, no perverting the course of justice, not so much as a littering citation can land in his lap.”

“Agreed.” _Let’s get our asses in out of the rain! Mollie let the thought connect with Joe and Laura_.

Worn out and letting all of the illness and exhaustion show, the pirate took a few beats to collect herself. “Did you ever find the box? We sure as fuck didn’t.”

Mollie, seizing on this as a chance to construct some rapport, replied, “Nope, and we’ve barely scratched the surface—”

“ _Oh, fuck_.” Joe interrupted, one hand catching Mollie’s attention by grasping her arm and the other pointed in the direction from which Laura came. A swarm of bad news was closing in fast.

It wasn’t the craft that were instantly recognizable, it was the strobing blue lights. Laura, back still to the incoming shuttles, wasn’t quite following along and barely figured out that the excitement Joe demonstrated was aft of her current position.

 _Whoop-whoop_! Such were the opening bars of the full blues-and-twos anthem. Mollie felt faint and Joe cussed vehemently, their talking Laura into doing the right thing was blown by a gang of greedy yokel cops looking to extort a geology team.

“You lied to me.” Laura accused.

“I don’t know who these people are or why they’re here.” Mollie would try to recapture Laura’s attention and sanity.

“You’d stoop to anything to get Veddah away from me.”

“Laura, honest, I don’t—” Mollie witnessed as Hillyard drew from some final reserve and coiled up to lash out.

Laura pointed to the sky. “ _You duplicitous bitch, you fucking sold me out_!”


	147. Chapter 147

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Dr. McCoy didn't appreciate having to haul himself under, over, and in-between the trees and boulders on the downslope. "Following the way Hillyard went makes it more of a possibility that we find her.”

"I have studied topographical maps of the Administrative Center and immediate surrounding area, Doctor. Joe showed me that they were on the edge of the geyser plain and this route is the most expedient way of getting there." Sohja, in possession of greater physical prowess than the two humans she was with, had taken a couple of tumbles during their trek. "I do not disagree that this is an arduous course, but the amount of time cut out of our transit can equate to lives saved."

Morgana was falling behind. "It's been a few years since I did my survival training. This hike is kicking my ass."

"Dr. McCoy, Lt. Ryan, I am going on ahead and you can continue on at a pace that is more suitable for you."

"Oh, nuh-uh." McCoy had some objection. Sohja gathered that voicing dissent was an element of the medic's personality. "The three of us are sticking together on this. You don't exactly have a scout badge in hiking and orienteering. You're not getting anywhere faster when you've misjudged another step because you're a novice at this stuff, and you've cracked your head open like a coconut after clobbering it into a rock."

"I'm just rusty is all." Morgana said. "I've spent the last three years on the bridge, not that my ship put in at many places that offered outdoor activities. Dr. McCoy is a landing party veteran. Neither of us wants you to accidentally get hurt or killed."

"Yours is a rational assessment." She'd stay with her unexpected teammates.

"Holy shit, man." McCoy was strangely gleeful. "Every time you do that, you could knock me over with a feather."

"I do not follow." Sohja had not paid much attention to McCoy's ongoing commentary on life as he saw it. It was a behavior that kept his mind somewhat clear.

"I wish you'd give Spock some lessons." He sometimes had a boyish demeanor that conflicted with his serious occupation. "He needs to learn to not have to be right all the time and that I know what the hell I'm talking about."

"If we do not cover more ground, you are not going to get the opportunity to tell him that." Sohja pressed onward.

  
  
  
All it took was a tree root catching his toe and Silvio was a human toboggan slipping down the hillside. Not as dramatic as the previous skid, he only stopped when a boulder and the tree growing out of it seemed to step into his path. Peeled up from the obstruction, he tasted something that wasn't pine needles or mud. He spit this wad of whatever and the new rock he'd picked up.

It wasn't a rock.

Now he was missing an upper incisor. "I'm taking this out of your hide, Laura."

The light was starting to go so he didn't have time to brood. Sharp-eyed, he sought his bounty, kicking through the undergrowth, looking behind trees, and trying to catch a smooth side of the box as it contrasted with the wild surroundings.

Like some kind of truffle-snuffling swine, he kept his face close to the ground and prayed to come across something manufactured by non-human hands. How could so many trees exist and they all look the same? Had he searched this one before and skipped another half a meter away? Dizzy from chasing his tail and needing to blow some warm air on his hands, he tried to sit his still-tender ass on a fallen log. That didn't work so he chose to lean against it instead. Frozen knuckles brought to his mouth, an object stood out in his line of sight.

"Fuck yeah. There's my diamonds. I was sad without your company my darlings." Moving horizontally, staying aware that meant one foot was lower than the other, he carefully traversed until he hovered above his prize. "Daddy missed you—"

His blood pressure dropped so precipitously that he had to sit immediately, sore ass or not. "That bitch, that fucking bitch, she got me."

The box, top broken open, displayed its contents: a big collection of nothing.

  
  
  
Based on what information they could get through various melds and telepathic contacts, Spock and Tralnor reascended to their prior elevation thus giving them the edge of seeing the place and people up ahead. They'd wind up parallel to Laura's party before descending at a right angle. Sohja, McCoy, and a fugitive they'd captured would come off the opposite slopes, an eight on the clock face opposed to the first officer and hyper-empath's three. T'Lal and Sha'leyen, hidden behind No. 742, would rush the scene if need be, but the idea was to keep them from this particular fray should something touch off because they were the likeliest of the Kennuk teams to have enough medical knowledge to help Veddah.

Pausing intermittently so Spock could tap back into Mollie, they covered a lot of ground. A restless amorphous evil tried to chip away at their psionic shields and emotional controls. If visualized, it would have been a vicious fanged creature clawing into their minds with the razor blades it had for nails.

There was not a meditation, breathing exercise, mind-control technique, or medication in existence that would let the two Vulcans continue on unimpeded. It worked on a frequency, a deliberate design trait installed by the depraved Ancient Golic creators, that set fire to the brainstems of victims, sandbagging them with a primordial fear.

"Tralnor, it is a miasma cloaking our sensibilities. . ." Spock felt death, not simply tasting and smelling it. "It wishes—"

In a repeat of earlier actions, Tralnor took hold of Spock's hand. (Let's stay tapped into one another so there aren't any miscommunications about what this thing is doing to us.)

"It wishes us pain and anguish, to feast upon our reactions." Spock accepted the physical connection. "To play us out until our greatest desire is to die."

Since Spock had a less overwhelming take on this, Tralnor had him finish with his description. "You and I, it knows that it can exploit our parentage. . . Our shame, our misgivings."

They both knew as this impediment bogged them down that the searchers as consecrated by T'Pau weren't going to find the tavalik duv-tor. It was finding them.

  
  
  
"Laura, don't do this!" Mollie shouted through the wailing sirens.

" _You. Have. Everything_!” She twitched like she was going to leap after Mollie and bite her throat out. "It's never enough."

"Stop, Laura."

"You've got my life! _Mine_!” Where the energy came from was unknown, but Laura tackled Mollie dropping both of them to the sodden ground. "You're not even real and look at you, you still have to steal from me to make up for your own personal fucking shortfalls."

The only countermeasures Mollie took was covering her face and falling in such a way that it protected Laura from hitting the ground too hard. Punches didn't connect for long or with a lot of force. Mollie couldn't retaliate. She wouldn't have to try to give a fatal blow. . .

Hands wrapped around Mollie's neck, Laura hissed her next line without moving her mouth. (I won't let you take him! He's all I have left.)

"Laura?" Mollie absorbed more of the wildfire behind the pirate's eyes, swiftly assimilating the woman's thoughts/memories/feelings/wishes. In a psionic broadcast to those closest, Mollie told people to back off and stay out of this fight.

Hillyard's physical illness, her mental state, the nature of her connection to Veddah, Mollie felt them all. The complicated mosaic of Laura's recent life fitted together and showed this antagonist in a different light. "Stop!"

(My life. . .) Blue strobes reflected on Laura's wet skin where her own light was going out. (You have my life. . .)

Mollie whipped a hand up and grabbed Laura's face before she could register what was going on. Distracted, the dying human let go. ( _Oh, Laura_. . .)

Pulling her into an awkward embrace, Laura collapsed onto her. From her vantage on the ground, Mollie got a glance upward and to her left. Joe and MV Sweetness' doctor were fighting to restrain Veddah. Sirens induced ear pain and the lights granted only dizziness.

Preempting each sensation, her own or Laura's, Mollie got a mouthful of death.

Veddah broke free, a bellow of pain from his lips and his mind, and charged for the person he thought had hastened his adun’a's demise. She hugged Laura closer, touching cheek to cheek, a flood of psionic energy flowing from Mollie into Hillyard's brain.

Hovering above, either dragging ass or observing the scene, law enforcement began to exit the sky and make for the dirt. Mollie was left to gag on putricine fumes as delivered by an unseen force.

  
  
  
A cavalry of official vehicles rocketed toward the confrontation site. Disgusted by the bureaucratic interruption, Tralnor said, (Because this day was going so well, we're being joined by Lincoln Portman, Minister of the Interior.)

Spock nearly went cross-eyed at the revelation. (Can you tell what it would take to make Portman and his entourage return to Sandia?)

(Only the precious metals he's convinced we're getting ready to smuggle out of here.) Leave it to a lard puck of Portman's stature to be in charge of his planet's natural resources and not have a working knowledge or a single clue as to what his wilderness played host to.

(We cannot compete with such stupidity.) Spock brought them to a halt where they were nearly parallel to the interaction between Mollie and Laura.

 _Whoop-whoop_! Ear-splitting noise cancelled out the more soothing sound of the rain.

Tralnor winced at something below them. (The Minister has arrived and touched off Laura's overreactive sensibilities.)

(One cannot blame her for responding as she is. She believes law enforcement has come for her and her response to such transgression is to fight.) Watching and unable at this point to do anything but continue observing, Spock found that he wished for Laura not to die, in a manner beyond the tenets of Vulcan philosophy and emotional control, but that desire was a minority presence in the face of what she'd done. Bodies, devastation in her wake, the human saying of "What goes around, comes around," sat prominently in his head. That ugly way of thinking peppered his personal and culturally instilled concern. Conscionable redress against the vengeful coward's path, he would not cater to facile temptation. No matter what she'd done, death was not the answer for her crimes.

(Spock, do you count six or seven rigs up there?) Tralnor was checking to validate the notion that he was seeing things or miscounting.

(Six.) He assured. (One monopod and five shuttles.)

(Okay.) Tralnor sounded strained. If he'd indulged in a more human approach to this confirmation, he probably would have given one of those disturbing laughs that reinforce how not funny things were. (I'm not disputing you.)

(Tralnor?)

(We've got six vehicles.) Tralnor got Spock to see what was scrambling his ability to do basic arithmetic.

Where was this going? (Yes, Tralnor. Six.)

(Then tell me what that is?)

It feathered into the blitzkrieg of dancing lights, appearing in the split seconds between human-created flashes. Did it move fast or slow? The flesh and blood eyes of the men scanning it for any sliver of recognition didn't want to go after it, but would let it come to them.

The unknown entity emitted a cobalt blue cast that didn't register with either of them. It buzzed about their heads, cutting through the wall of fear the lingering tavalik duv-tor built inside them. Tralnor reached out with his empty hand and let his fingers fall through the edge of the orb's perceived physical outline. Disbelief echoed in his next statement. (Spock, it's an el-i'ki.)

Alarmed, not knowing its intent, Spock said, (I did not know they existed anywhere outside of folklore.)

(The Lyr Saan are well-versed in the oddities of our past, and I had no idea they were more than wishful thinking.) Tralnor pulled his face back as the self-determined bit of light encroached. (I'm receiving a directive that it's benevolent. It will not visit ruination on us.)

(To see one. . .) Of all the things Spock saw and experienced at this pre-Reform artifact of hell, he was most surprised by the one thing that didn't seem purpose-made to inflict devastation. The shimmering eidolon was a shard of beauty.

Reverent, Tralnor said, (A Free Soul, right here. . .)

"Dor ork'i'ka, than du khynna tehrai." Spock couldn't be sure it would understand the modern version of the language it knew when it was still part of a living being. Honored Ancient One, do share your objective.

  
  
  
The Kennuk meld screed and thrashed about Sha'leyen's mind. She felt Mollie, desperate to keep Laura from setting down The Path of Dying, poured everything she could into Hillyard's continued existence in this realm. (T'Lal, we are going to have to break our cover.)

(We lose our advantage over these governmental intruders should we make ourselves known.) T'Lal, not being in on the particulars of Sha'leyen's mind thought it strange that the Belonite wanted to sacrifice their relative obscurity.

(Mollie can't do this on her own. She needs reinforcement so we all stand a chance of keeping Laura and therefore Veddah alive.) Sha'leyen would get to Mollie and T'Lal could stay behind the shuttle if she wanted. (It's not that Mollie is a poor psion. She's wrung out from our search, and we will have to live with Hillyard and Veddah dying because we did not grant reinforcement to the effort of constraining her to the mortal plane.)

A telepathic flick of agreement from T'Lal, she said, (We must go about this expediently.)

  
  
  
Hauling herself and Laura into a position where it was easier for Mollie to observe the pirate's vital signs, there was no paying attention to the intruding aviators. "Laura. . . you're not through with this. . . Stay with me."

The unconscious woman in her arms continued to fade. Mollie felt rather than heard Veddah bursting onto this arrangement. The boy, agonized by the fear that Laura had only seconds until she was gone, hot-footed it toward Mollie's location. "Don't leave him, Laura. He needs you."

  
  
  
Terror-stricken, Veddah fairly hurled himself toward the miserable scene with his wife. Two humans, Hoskins and someone accompanying Mollie MacCormack lost their slippery grip on him, and he was off. Laura's brightness, her positive regard for him, the marriage bond itself was blunting and snuffing out.

He didn't waste a single thought on the police coming in to further ruin everyone's bad day. His run toward the women started well, but the sloppy ground did to him what the snow had during his Sierra Nevada training at the academy. Lacking the experience to account for the ramping up of weather conditions, the inherent instability of the colloidal water/soil/vegetation left him squelching, slowing down, and resigned that the humans chasing him would catch up to his position.

Life on planets that were blue and green gave the men on his tail an edge. Still trying to run, his world unwinding inside him, Veddah's right foot hit a pocket of mossy stones hidden in a puddle. This thing that he would have sidestepped had he known it was there, or to look for it at all, did the same as a bear trap. High ankle sprain, inflammation, and associated pain instantly shot up his leg, and he fell, making landfall with his face impacting the floor. Disorientated, gasping for breath, still psionically reaching for his Adun'a to take her bodily afflictions and elongate her chance at life, he was trying to get palms on the ground so he could roll over and lessen the chance of drowning in the increasingly plentiful standing water.

"Veddah!" Mollie's human, probably someone who spent his time on the variable landscapes of earth made it to him first. "Stay down and I'll help you sit up."

Not trusting this man would follow-through, his doubt was unfounded. Hands-on, this guy named Joe, helped a perfect stranger. Upright, ankle smarting, Veddah wanted to chase this man off. "Hang in there with us, Lieutenant."

"My—I must get to her."

Hoskins caught up and had two hyposprays on the ready. "For the pain and to hopefully calm you the fuck down."

Joe got a hand on the back of Veddah's neck first to hold him stationary to receive the drugs and second to give him some reassurance that none of his people were here to hurt Laura. They knew she was sick and were treating her accordingly.

"That's going to have to do. I don't have enough in my field kit to knock him out." The vet got a look at the ankle where it swelled out of the top of Veddah's boot. "We've got to get this elevated and iced. . ."

Bleary, medicines taking effect, Veddah choked back the frog in his throat and said, "I do not want her to die."


	148. Chapter 148

. . . _punaf-tor_. . .

The el’i’ki didn’t speak but delivered energy pulses to Spock and Tralnor that their brains interpreted as sound.

. . . _fna’punaf-tor_. . .

. . . _fna’punaf-tor. . . hal-tor_. . .

Where Tralnor could measure its emotional resonance and its refusal to stop dogging them until they helped it out, Spock wanted to make sure the message was interpreted correctly.

“What link are you referring to?” A fourth and fifth repeat did not grant additional insight.

. . . _ko-kan ka vah tu_. . .

“Fna’punaf-tor hal ko-kan ka vah tu.” Spock put the sentence fragments together in the only sensical order. “Through the link, I go, the girl the same as you.”

. . . _ko-kan ka vah tu_. . .

Asked if he knew what it meant, Tralnor didn’t know what the phrases were in regard to Spock and himself. “We understand your exigency but seek clarification.”

. . . _ko-kan ka vah tu_. . .

“Tralnor, perhaps it is referring to your mother?” Spock thought that the only reasonable conclusion. T’Lal was like her son, both of them containing human DNA and demonstrable advanced psionic abilities.

El’i’ki’s light, a slow thrum, switched up into a strobe, Tralnor said, “I think we’re onto something.”

. . . _dungi-tu ruskarau el’ru_. . .

The men looked at one another, both hashing out the explanation/implication of following through with the el’i’ki’s request. “Tralnor?”

“If it wants us to grab onto it. . .”

Spock, entirely skeptical, hesitated to follow Tralnor’s line of thought. “Is that wise?”

Reaching out to test the waters as it were, Tralnor’s fingers danced through the margins of luminous blue. A mild tingle was el’i’ki’s response. “No, Spock, it’s not wise at all.”

  
  
  
Not all of the Minister’s entourage made landfall. Two shuttles remained aloft. They employed searchlights to aid Portman’s lieutenants. Who or what they sought was of little consequence to Sha’leyen. She scurried along, head down, and sidled up to Mollie. T’Lal and her rifle arrived seconds later. Having cover against a police bureau that may or may not have a penchant for excessive force let Sha’leyen focus on Mollie and Laura.

(What are the readings you’ve gotten from her?) On her knees, Sha’leyen didn’t feel the frigid water filling the shafts of her boots. (I’m getting some of it through the kennuk meld, but I need to know more.)

(I thought I was going mad at first, but what I gave you is what’s in front of you now.) Mollie adjusted Laura so the comatose woman’s face was visible. Blood oozed from her nostrils, a breakthrough from an earlier bleed.

Joe Bergman and Laura’s doctor limped Veddah off to the shuttle, ignoring the young man’s cries. Too intoxicated to make a break from his chaperones, he begged for the pirate to come back to him. Sha’leyen might have wondered why someone so wronged could have such a deep need for the person who’d imprisoned and attacked him when she had her first taste of the stressed marriage bond.

“ _Jesus-fuck-scare-the-shit-out-of-me_!” Joe nearly dropped his side of the wounded Vulcan. Sha’leyen asked him to bring the green first aid kit from the shuttle, and she’d not posed the question out loud.

Mollie had started to buckle. (Tell me what to do because I don’t know if I can hold on for much longer.)

(You and I are going to keep her heart beating. Her left lung is still mostly functional so the top priority is making sure her brain stays oxygenated. She’s got a mass of unknown origin on the right that we can’t go messing with.) Sha’leyen used her teeth to pull off her insulated gloves.

Muffled agony reached her ears, the boy fell apart as he was deposited aboard No. 742. Sha’leyen said, (This is borderline agonal breathing. She needs deep, even breaths, starting now.)

Combined strength and dedication, Mollie making the connection to Laura, Sha’leyen putting some grunt into the supplementation of this basic bodily function, they’d bought Hillyard another thirty-or-so minutes if they were not too terribly disrupted.

An assortment of men rolled out of shuttles, boots rapidly squelching in the mud. She and Mollie turned toward the person facing toward them from No. 742. Joe had taken off at a hard run, back into the storm, trying to avoid law enforcement, and performing a move Sha’leyen had heard referred to as sliding into home, ducking his would-be apprehenders.

Twelve meters away, he rolled onto his stomach, crawled on his hands and knees, and refused to acknowledge those who’d drag him in on false pretenses. Standard police-issue commands, the human ignored them. Joe rattled off a lightspeed chain of profanity and kept moving.

Warning shot.

A phaser stun to the ground just ahead of Joe made him hesitate for a second or two. “Fuck that noise!”

An old sound made by T’Lal and her long gun was meant to convey that playtime was over and that Portman’s stooges needed to get lost. Relentless, they were determined to catch up to Joe when mud and water exploded at their feet. T’Lal would shoot the Pezig’s law enforcement dead before allowing one of her people to come to harm.

“Here, here, here—” Joe covered the last stretch and unslung the med bag to set it at Sha’leyen’s side. He covered down as another shot went off. “Shit!”

Med bag thrust open, bandage scissors to cut open Laura’s shirt, Sha’leyen prepped her for the adhesive on the mobile defibrillator. A bulge in Laura’s midsection was a dead giveaway of her liver issues. No need to feel for landmarks to get the device set, ribs and sternum countable, it was seated quickly.

“Is there anything else right now?” Joe pulled himself into a crouch. “I’ve got to switch with Dr. Hoskins so he can help you.”

“No.” Mollie said.

“Whoever this Dr. Hoskins is, get his ass out here right now.” Sha’leyen opened an anaphylaxis kit.

  
  
  
Boot unlaced, Hoskins gave Veddah short warning that it was coming off. The spike in physical pain was the only thing that drew the kid out of his hoary despair. “I can give you more for the swelling.”

Drowned socks tossed into a corner, pillows elevating the extremity, he sought out the other medkit Joe said was there. Open cabinet, pawing around, this was the first time in hours where he didn’t feel like he would have a stroke. Enclosed walls were better than any pharmaceutical for treating his specific crippling anxiety disorder. When he happened upon the red nylon bag, the second he grabbed it, the first bangs nearly startled him to death.

“They’re not shooting at us are they?” Hoskins asked the man enshrined in the shadow of the partially opened rear hatch. Joe hadn’t offered an introduction.

“Not yet.” Mystery man took up a long gun and stared down the sight. “Focus on your patient. T’Lal and I are warding them off.”

“Veddah, we’re still doing what we can.” Hoskins broke open a box of chemical ice packs, wrapped the activated pouches in a self-sticking bandage, and lightly placed it on the blooming bruise. The kid arched his back against the pressure while rattling off a garbled apology for his emotional outpouring. “I think you’re coming down too hard on yourself. I think you’re allowed to be upset while watching your wife suffer a horrible death.”

Head lolled to the left where he could see the ongoing effort at helping Laura. “She is my. . .”

“Unsolicited advice, kid.” The vet nailed Veddah with a bolus of stolsatadol and followed with prilmetophen. Painkiller, anti-inflammatory, something to get his physical discomfort under control so he might focus on his mental state, he seemed to relax. “Don’t let this make you or it’s going to break you.”

Minor explosions cut through the soundtrack of rainfall on the roof. “I do not understand.”

“When I was eleven, my family had taken in some needy youth. I was an only child and thought having siblings was going to be great. My two older foster brothers made me watch as they tortured all the family pets to death before doing the same, and a lot worse, to my mother.” He remembered that it was a beautiful spring day and he’d rushed home from his scout meeting so he could share all of the exciting things they’d be doing on their camping trip in June. Cole and Lin had waited for Hoskins to arrive before starting that evening’s schedule of events. “Only reason they didn’t torture and kill me was my dad got home early from work. I let that day become the basis for my life and as I got older, my reaction changed from being the victim of a heinous crime to almost total misanthropy. There aren’t enough proxies in the universe to take my vengeance upon. I’ve never moved on because I’m stuck in a place where hurting other people is far more satisfying than trying to get over what those fucks did. I wouldn’t let myself get over it because I needed the hate to keep me going every day.”

Besides his mother, the hardest part was seeing what those bastards did to Frog and Toad, the cockatiels he’d loved so much. The altruistic act of taking in children who needed good parents and a real family had spectacularly backfired. “And, I know Laura. She’d come back from the grave and kick your nuts off you turned out like me.”

Gaze still fixed out the open cabin side-door, saying, “I believe you are correct in that regard, Dr. Hoskins.”

Joe Bergman, having made his delivery, took off for No. 742 like a track and field star, hurtling back into the vehicle a lot faster than when he’d left. “Okay, Doc, got their stuff to them, but they can really use another set of hands out there.”

Bungee cord recoil whipped Hoskins, stripping the thin measure of comfort he’d found inside and recounting one of the worst events in his life. He listed off all the drugs and doses administered to Veddah and instructed Joe to keep a close eye on the young lieutenant’s foot. If it started to turn blue or lose any sensation, the ice packs had to come off. Leaned against the bulkhead, he did the best he could gagging down the paralysis that wanted him to give up on his captain.

“Keep talking to him, help him stay calm.” Hoskins told Joe. One last pause to collect his messenger bag, he held his breath and stepped into the fray.

  
  
  
Hunched and sulking, Silvio was greeted with the return of his brain recognizing his hand injury. Livid blindness took seconds to clear and in the poor light, he decided to look in the empty box again. He didn’t know why it occurred to him that checking it was a good idea. He knew the damned thing was only good for planting catnip or collecting beer caps, but here it went.

This time the search was quick, it was found after a handful of careful steps. His good hand poised to grab the top edge, the necessity of reexamining this disappointment inundated his senses until picking the damned thing up was the only cause that mattered to him in all of this life and the next. Maybe that cunt had found something better than diamonds?

He sat and pulled it into his lap, he traced the inner edges of the stone, grin blooming on his face. “Better than diamonds you bitch!”

Fingers grazed along as euphoria gathered. Oh, he knew it was in there, the real prize, the reason MV Sweetness had been spanking it all over the quadrant for Hillyard’s fool’s errand. “—pulled one over on you, Laura.”

Such were Silvio Mazzi’s last words.

  
  
  
“Main viewer, magnify!” Lt. Commander Cosgriff, like all the bridge personnel, was starstruck. “Science, what the fuck is that?”

Sarah watched the electro-phosphorescent column of blue shoot into the stratosphere from which radiated a spider’s web of lightning that flickered above Dr. Tralnor’s part of Pezig’s Gate.

“Maybe it’s nuclear?” Someone said. “Maybe?”

“Our scanners are incapable of rendering an answer, Sir. That would require much more sensitive equipment.” Seltun tried another futile combination of keystrokes. “We are not as well-outfitted as the Enterprise.”

The lift door slid on its track and revealed Captain Kuznetsov who appeared no worse for wear. “Cosgriff, report.”

  
  
  
Off the mountain, less stressed about crossing this terrain, McCoy was giving more insight as to the machinations of his very interesting mind. “That’s when I said to Jim—”

A rumbling of the jagged earth beneath their boots sent Sohja’s party to the ground. Having lived in Los Angeles for several years, she knew what earthquakes felt like and this was more violent than any tremor she’d experienced before.

Her human companions swore as the bottom dropped out of their walk. Morgana asked a question Sohja knew the terrible answer to.“Fuck, did we fall into a pit of dead bodies?”

No, there weren’t any bodies, at least not yet. The Vulcan had not done any better at staying on her feet than they had. Shoving her torso up and rolling over to stand, her everything turned blue. Harsh light was directly followed by a stab of breathtaking fear. Sohja’s conclusion as to the cause of this additional mayhem? It was awake, it was on the loose, and it wasn’t taking any prisoners.

  
  
  
Head over heels, Spock and Tralnor were flicked down part of the hill, the suicide inducing fog that had stalked them converted from a disembodied psychic haze and took root in the closest, most suitable host. The el’i’ki disappeared before they grabbed onto it, either taking flight or lost in the all-penetrating bombardment of blue.

Spock thought he was speaking out loud, but he didn’t know. “. . .Tralnor, we have failed. . .”


	149. Chapter 149

Joe shed his soaked jacket and it was like taking off a lead apron. It sloshed into the same corner as Veddah’s socks. Now, he could follow Dr. Hoskins’ directive. “You need something to focus on that’s not entirely out of your control.”

The boy was shaking, cold, shock, pain, Joe couldn’t do anything in a medical sense, so he raided a cupboard for a blanket and came back to drape one of Grandma Nora’s homemade quilts over Veddah. “I have a recitation that doesn’t precisely address this particular landfill explosion. . . _Don’t panic_.”

“Panic? I am not—You are going to say _Sunlight Contemplation: Eighty-nine_ or _Section Twelve of the Concordance of Linear Thought_.” Veddah was not interested in things that were fine when settling the troubled minds of people who’d not experienced events of this calibre. “If you would overlook that comment, I should not assume your proficiency with Vulcan mind-training canon.”

“Those are probably good choices. Gad-shen t’vokayalar ulidau kaukuh tiv-wak t’hokni. . .” Memories of sunrise mark the fifth conscious interval. . . Joe thought that approach too similar to ill-mannered human platitudes like ‘life never gives you more than you can handle.’ “But I’ve got something else in mind.”

Veddah squirmed in pain and frustration. “I cannot see what they are doing to her.”

Snapping up Veddah’s hand to distract him from the horror show, Joe projected the same calm that was keeping Sarek on an even keel and started speaking. “ _Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun_. . .”

Not knowing what the hell Joe was spouting, Veddah tuned in to resolve his confusion. “. . . _it is the story of that terrible, stupid catastrophe and some of its consequences_.”

Words flowed, the paragraphs rattled off, and Joe was drawing down the ripsaw of pain engulfing the boy. “ _But the story of this terrible, stupid Thursday, the story of extraordinary consequences_ —”

He listened as the focal character of the story tried to keep a demolitions crew from knocking down his home. Veddah thought it odd that he had an understanding as to Arthur Dent’s state of mind. A parallel narrative to his own, shred of peace found, the cabin lights blinked and went out. The expected emergency lighting didn’t kick in.

“Fuck a duck. Here’s us keeping to our own terrible, stupid, Thursday.” Joe fumbled in the dark for the emergency torch he’d seen on the bulkhead so his human ass could see well enough to try to figure this new kink out. He thought he found the torch holder when the blackout instantly ended and the light, the universe, and everything was retina-searing blue.

  
  
  
Billie smacked one of her gauges. “Fuck, we just lost the regional doppler.”

Why do these provincial chugwater planets always half-ass the important details? Weather modeling, air traffic, customs, there were certain cost-cutting trends Kirk had noticed over the years. “Will it let you switch to the satellite feed?”

“No, some administrator who has his driver take him to and from the office every day cut corners and kept all these government cheese boxes off the satellite net so they don’t bog down the system. That keeps it open for tourists.” This was an instruments-only flight to begin with, but the loss of storm readings made this all the more treacherous.

“We’ll have to be more careful, somehow.” Kirk felt a gush of stomach acid threaten to surge up his esophagus.

All the water in the air flashed cerulean, leaving the captains to react with what little navigational clues they could. Pulling up, the shuttle’s cheap excuse of an altimeter barked about being too close to the ground. They were about to slam into a fog-enshrined hill.

They cleared the landscape, barely, topping out a fair few giant conifers. “Start looking for our people or No. 742. I’ll keep us from turning into potted meat if at all possib—”

Lightly skimmed across the roof by another vehicle that hadn’t seen them, they barrel-rolled and took out the spires on more trees.

  
  
  
Impact, metal scraping against metal, maybe the sight of a windscreen, three whirling, nigh-dim shafts of light vectoring off in one direction while a similar set of illuminated red lenses continued on their original course, all Tralnor could do is listen for a crash. His ears didn’t pick up either strafing shuttle slamming into the ground.

Pushing against the ground layer beneath the spongy topsoil, he got parked on his butt and took hold of Spock again. Mirror ball and dry ice light effects left the sky to look like it was boiling. (Are you okay, Spock?)

No reply, just desperation and heartsickness.

(Spock? Don’t make me come in there after you.)

Words directed at someone and no one, Spock said, (Jim! Why are you here! The Kennuk failed!)

(Of course, Kirk’s here.) Tralnor, who’d been fairly certain this day didn’t have the potential to get much worse than the formation of a deadly monster just found a new low.

(Jim, get away, now!)

  
  
  
“Spock!” Kirk screamed as his head slammed into the side window. “Fuck, fuck, Billie, he’s down there!”

Was he hurt? Was he dead? Why was he supine, letting the rain hit his face? “ _Oh, Spock_. . .”

“Keep holding on, Jimmy!” Billie spanked the bureaucratic shit-heap’s propulsion system and got the nose pointed up and away from the next hillside that wanted to crush them like an empty can.

  
  
  
Hoskins barreled into the emergency medical fray and heard the two soaked women working on Laura speaking in a language that wasn’t one he was proficient in. “I’m sorry, Ladies, but you’re going to have to give it to me in Federation Standard.”

“Do you have any drug allergies?” The one holding the captain, Mollie, he recalled, asked.

“Do I?” Drug allergies? Why wasn’t that a question about Laura? “I’m not allergic.”

This other one, probably another Starfleet officer, stuck a disposable tube with a rubberized end on an aerosol inhaler. “Good. Something evil is going to come roaring down on us and this is the only thing we’ve got that might offer some protection. Limein will help you keep your mind whole.”

“I don’t—” Hoskins didn’t have a choice if he was taking that shit or not. Starfleet moved so fast he wasn’t sure she’d done anything until she had his head held in such a way that allowed her to get that nozzle in and out of both nostrils before he could finish his objection.

“No time to explain, Dr. Hoskins.” She let go of his head. “Are there any vital details to Hillyard’s recent medical history that explains her current condition?”

He didn’t feel anything happening to him, so whatever she’d hit him with, wasn’t a narcotic. “This didn’t happen on my watch because I never would have let her get like this. Today is the first time I’ve seen her in weeks and she was perfectly fine when she left Sweetness.”

Expecting an objection telling him he was full of shit, it was encouraging that he was approached like a fellow professional. He listened as the one with the odd accent he’d not been able to place relayed Laura’s current condition. He thought he had something that would work in concert with previous meds both dispensed by him and Starfleet. “Cardioll-EQC, starting with five cc’s.”

The defibrillator currently in use as a heart monitor picked up a stronger, steadier beat when the Cardioll took hold. Now that he knew the medication worked, he had a few more goodies up his sleeve that might help. “I ran a scan on her earlier and it was telling me shit that I just couldn’t believe. I can only imagine what caused this and it’s so improbable as to be asinine.”

“We’re not even trying to make a guess right now.” Mollie stroked Laura’s cheek. “About all we can tell is that it’s not a natural disease. It was deliberately given to her.”

“I hope you don’t think for one second that the kid did this to her.” Hoskins didn’t need confirmation that Veddah was innocent on that charge. “But that fucking Silvio, he’d kill her just so Veddah can’t have her.”

Mollie, a person who by rights should have dropped the captain into the mud and walked away from this entire affair, continued to act with professional standards and personal compassion. “Sha’leyen, is she stable enough for us to get her—”

Hoskins had read about earthquakes when he was in high school and took a geography class on the subject his junior year at university, but this was the first he’d felt of one. The planet’s skin burbled and dropped the veterinarian to the ground. Comparisons to an undulating gelatin dessert were short-lived.

Blue.

It was all so blue.

  
  
  
Glittering sapphire held steady and so did Tralnor.

Seeing/sensing Kirk blended into the tavalik duv-tor’s previously induced emotional instability and had Spock fighting to maintain decorum. A lifetime’s worth of shame and failure surfaced. Every cruel insult, derogatory name, scathing tomb-quiet rebuke from Sarek, rejection by family on both his mother and father’s side and Spock was reminded of the sensation he’d experienced while melded into Enterprise’s computer. It was time to give himself over to the system, melt into the wicked remains of this pre-Reform ghost-prison, where at least he’d be in good company as just another broken spirit.

(I told you not to make come in here, Spock.) Physical connection reestablished, he tried to get a foothold in the misery and set the first officer’s mind to something less pain-addled. Tralnor decided to route them off the hill, get the chief science officer aboard No. 742, and sheltered from the rain.

(Please, Tralnor, let me go.) An element of his psi tried to swat the younger man away. (I do not wish to be an encumbrance any longer.)

(It’s not your choice.) A tug on Spock’s arm and Tralnor couldn’t get him to move. (Your decision-making abilities are corrupted by an outside, ancient force. Don’t let the residual figment of a warlord from the past determine your future.)

(I am tired. . .) Elan had taken flight and the impetus to stay alive drained away.

Enrobed in that ocean of light, Tralnor got closer to Spock and took him in a full embrace. An old declaration tucked into a memory and they were little boys again, revisiting an exchange about don’t care what your detractors think because that’s giving them points, that ended with Tralnor vehemently insistent that Spock should never abandon himself.

(Always get back up, Spock.)

(This is the way it should have been, gone in an instant instead of put out on display where all can see my pathetic attempt at personhood. At least you came into the world, all Vulcans knowing what you were and who you’d grow up to be.) His arms went limp at his sides. (Why did they create me. . .)

Tralnor clung to his friend, his relation, and repeated into Spock’s ear, “Always get back up.”

  
  
  
Initially groaning under Veddah’s weight, Joe made quick work at getting his charge into the safest place on the shuttle. A native Angelino, there was no thought involved, just the implementation of protocol instilled since early childhood. He dragged the both of them under the fold-down seat that had served as a patient bed, using it as additional shelter. There was a definite lack of reinforced doorways or other heavy furniture under which they could ride out a quake. “That wasn’t The Big One and with good fortune we won’t see it today.”

Veddah, more divorced from the outside world than minutes earlier, didn’t understand why he’d been yanked down to the floor. “. . . heartbeat. . .”

“You stick it out under here until one of us comes and gets you. I don’t want to bug out on you, but I’ve got to make sure Ambassador Sarek is okay.” Joe started to wriggle away. “I can tell when he’s blocking me out. He doesn’t want me to be concerned and that has me royally fucking concerned.”

“Adun’a, nash-vey dungi du nel-dath t’khaf-spol dungau’nah-mu karik. . .” — _I will that your heartbeat shall be strong_.

“Keep sending that thought to her. That’s what I’d do if Sohja was in Laura’s place.” It wasn’t ideal that Joe leave the desperate young man alone. “I’ll be right back.”

It didn’t look like Veddah had heard him.

“ _Shouting and shooting, I can’t let them catch me_.” The lyrics to an ancient cowboy song gave Joe something to concentrate on that wasn’t a gunfight-light show. “ _I have to make it to Rose’s back door_.”

Stepping down the ramp where he’d last seen Sarek, it was alarming to find the diplomat was not standing beneath the upper hatch, rifle trained on those who’d hamstring this whole affair. “ _Off to my right_. . .”

On Joe’s right, there didn’t seem to be anyone his mushy primate brain could discern. “. . . _I see five mounted cowboys_.”

Backlit, the dark outline of a morbidly obese man fumbled his way out of a government car. “What the fuck is going on out here!”

“ _Off to my left ride a dozen or more_.” He repeated lyrics out of order as they suited the activity around him.

“You’re going to give me my fucking gold you smooth Vulcan liars, or I’m taking it out of your skulls!”

Whoever this asshole was, if Sarek got to him before Joe got to the Ambassador, the hollering official might not make it to see tomorrow. Tunneling through his neurons, purposely seeking his mental connection with the Vulcan, Joe struggled. The blazing mono-colored light played tricks on his eyes making it as hard to discern who or what might be on the ground as it was for him to find specific psionic markers in his own mind.

Three more steps toward where his non-telepathic brain suggested Sarek had gone, Joe’s mouth filled with saliva and he immediately had to throw up. Earlier, he’d been told to keep tabs on his subconscious reaction to this place, the buzzing in the pulp of his teeth, and to let the big dogs know if anything changed. Well, something had changed.

He pressed onward, defying the reasonable parts of his mind that told him running around getting his crazy on while puking all over would just get him covered in barf. The peanut, cashew, and almond party mix that made up the rest of his aware thoughts said, Fuck it, I have the rain! “ _My love is strong and it pushes me onward_. . .”

“Colonel Barret!” The fat man beckoned to a minion. “If my wide ass has to come out there and get fucking shot, I’ll have your ballsack for a coin purse.”

Still not seeing well, he didn’t cuss once while tripping over Sarek. That he’d stayed on his feet and not kicked the Vulcan in the head, or worse, Joe was amazed.

(Mr. Bergman.)

(Ambassador.) Joe figured out what limb was where and offered his assistance in righting the diplomat.

(What is your awareness of our missing artifact?)

“ _I see a white puff of smoke from a rifle. I feel the bullet go deep in my chest. Something is dreadfully wrong_. . .” Joe made sure to start them toward No. 742 before providing an answer. “Sir, it’s awake and it’s heading this way.”

An explosion went off near to Joe’s head and he heard a lifeless body tumble face-first into the slop. “Sir?”

“Colonel Barret!” The land whale called after his man. “That better not be you shot down out there!”

(A member of law enforcement was drawing down on you, Mr. Bergman.) Sarek reholstered his pistol. (Now was not the time to risk that he did not have his phaser set on stun.)

 _Because if I croak, you probably will too_. Joe thought.

  
  
  
Then their luck finally ran out.

 _Pull-up_! _Pull-up_! _Pull-up_! The automatic systems went through their rote advice as though the captains didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

“Answer the conn you bitch!” Billie spat at the moribund navigational board.

Pezig’s Gate’s beater-with-a-heater gave one last half-hearted punch. Jim wasn’t ready to meet his maker, but the car didn’t care who wanted to live. He braced for impact.

  
  
  
Lyrics:  
_El Paso_ , written by Marty Robbins, 1959.

Joe’s recitation:  
_The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ , Douglas Adams, 1979.


	150. Chapter 150

An almost entirely out-of-control vehicle went end-over-end just above the heads of Sohja and her companions. Not visible for long, it made ground-fall nearby, the people at the yoke getting some last-second input into the crash trajectory.

“I hate to say this, but praise someone’s gods that this thing went down on the flats. I’d probably kill myself trying to climb back up that damned mountain.” McCoy led the way toward the stationary aft lights. “I hope whoever’s in there either went so quickly they didn’t have time to think about dying or that they’re all okay with nothing more than scrapes and bruises.”

 _Nothing to argue there_ , Sohja thought. They didn’t cover much distance before encountering the tract gouged into the sintery top-soil and broken and gnarled debris scraped off and shed about. Soon enough, they saw the dwindling red of the taillights.

She covered McCoy and Lt. Ryan while they investigated the wreck. When the three of them were satisfied that nothing was rigged to explode and assassins weren’t readied to jump from the cabin and attack they made their official approach.

“Sohja, we need some of your muscle to get this door forced.” McCoy went forward just far enough to shine a torch through the windscreen. “Let’s see if we can’t figure out who’s in here—Fuck.”

“Doctor?” Sohja had wrapped the palms of her hands with the cuffs on her jacket and was ready to start prying.

“Of course it’s you.” He sounded defeatist. “ _James Tiberius Kirk_.”

Sohja had thought that McCoy was trying to issue some lame joke when she saw enough features on the unconscious man that she recognized him. “What is your Captain doing here?”

“So fucking typical. . .” McCoy joined Sohja’s effort and soon enough creaky metal gave, the door hinge partially fulfilled its intended function, and he could assess his superior officer. “One monkey follows the half-monkey into the maw of insanity and then monkey number three is feeling left out. . .”

Coughing sounded from the other side of the cab. “Jimmy, are you okay?”

“Buffalo Bill, you are not supposed to be here.” Sohja and Lt. Ryan circled around the back of the crash and worked on getting Captain Cody freed. “You and James have put yourself in an unacceptable amount of danger.”

“Stop being such a worry-wart, Tinkerbell.”

“Viral and or fungal induced growths on the skin do not fret over friends’ moronic behavior, Captain Cody.” Sohja chose not to address Lt. Ryan’s half-frightened, half-curious reaction to this exchange.

“Ow!” Buffalo Bill clutched her side and groaned over stifled laughter. “I think I bruised my ribs and you’ve got to be funny all over the joint, on purpose. You’re the worst sometimes.”

Not the most medically inclined Vulcan in the universe, Sohja got a hand on the left side of Buffalo Bill’s face. She would lighten McCoy’s load with a report that her friend was bumped and bruised as induced by situationally motivated idiocy.

Returned to the present, Kirk yowled and tried to dodge McCoy’s ministrations. “Bones, I’m fine. Stop trying to climb up my nose. . .”

“I know why you’re here.” Buffalo Bill said to Sohja. “Jimmy and I were attempting to hunt down our runaway ship’s surgeon. So, who the hell are you?”

“Maeve, this is ex-Starfleet Lieutenant Morgana Ryan.”

“Don’t go too fast, Jim. You’re going to—” Enterprise’s CMO groaned. “—wind up on your ass.”

Kirk picked up off the floor, neither of the humans had injuries needing treatment and both could still walk. The cornflower glow up above, while not something any of them were used to, made all five people at the wreck register concern when a shaft of the same brand of blue light shot off from a location closer to Laura’s cave than the geyser plain.

“Um, that’s just butts.” Buffalo Bill pointed at the spectacle.

“Sa’natuhn, fir-tor na khraushik i’koi.” In her curt description, Sohja let Buffalo Bill know their simple reality. _It left the box. Brace for a violent attack_.

“So, Tinkerbell, you’re saying we’re fucked?”

“That is exactly what I am saying.”

  
  
  
The screaming government leader trundled back into the relative safety of his transport and sealed the doors. Whoever Colonel Barret was, chances were that he’d become one of the dead or dying bodies sprawled in the mud. Joe and Sarek withdrew and carefully returned to No. 742.

“Sir, are you okay?”

The ambassador said nothing for as long as it took to hear Veddah’s abject fear and pain. “Mr. Bergman, the boy will benefit from your counsel. I am too—I have a rather more fatalistic overview than you do.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Joe had to make sure that Sarek wasn’t hiding a massive coronary from him.

“I am stable.” The older man pointed to the folded down seat. “You are needed elsewhere.”

Another tectonic event had the shuttle rocking. If Joe hadn’t already been on the floor, the motion would have sent him there. “They're still working on her.”

Eyes bloodshot, verdant, and showing all of his lost hope, the young officer suspired for that mostly reprehensible woman. “. . . this cannot. . .”

“I’m not a psion.” Joe said, shoving his way in beside Veddah. “So, I don’t have the full benefit of the relationship, but, I have a shield brother and she’s here, right in the middle of all this.”

Veddah wasn’t seeking someone telling him about a similar yet nowhere near as pressing as his situation with Laura. The boy almost completely switched off. “ _Is she ill as well_?”

Joe couldn’t blame the kid for the contempt. “I’ve learned something today. My link with Sohja, because it laid some kind of track or process in my head, lets me become a conduit/repeater of sorts. You, you’re dead dog tired, and you’re trying to keep tabs on Laura, but I don’t know that you’ve got her attention.”

“She cannot let me know if she hears me.”

“Let’s get you a signal boost and you can make your voice heard at a volume she can’t ignore.” Joe had half a grin. “Also, your Old Lady thinks I’m annoying as fuck. Between the two of us, we’ll get you noticed.”

  
  
  
A monolith of light pierced through dark and weather-induced gloom, adding more eerily periwinkle brightness. The earth below gave another heave. Mollie accepted a new medication from Sha’leyen. It didn’t matter if it came from the Belonite’s stores or arrived with Laura’s physician, Mollie administered the drug.

“I don’t know if we should be worried, but that’s got me concerned.” Dr. Hoskins pointed out more trouble in the sky.

Mollie hoped for more law enforcement, she could deal with being harassed by a collection of ill-informed humans far easier than an unpredictable Ancient Golic maleficence. It was impossible to know what these new light-show conditions might bring. The cloud ceiling rose several hundred meters and centered where that shaft of blue punched through firmament. In the seconds that followed, concentric ripples furled away from that center point and drew more lightning. Shades of cyanosis were swirled with purple and green in a sinister version of the aurora.

“ _I’sa yuk, Laura_.” Mollie told Hillyard to wake up.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to get her the fuck out of here?” Hoskins recoiled from the aerial spectacle and looked at his boss. He feared this was the end.

“Your captain is too unstable yet.” Sha’leyen countered.

“Heartbeat, respiration, blood pressure, from where I’m at, she looks regulated well enough.” Hoskins proffered a requested medical tool.

Sha’leyen’s response described something not-quite-alien, “Physically, transferring her to our shuttle has a high likelihood of success. It’s her brain activity that’s worrying.”

“She’s manifesting symptoms of previous hypoxia? It’s been hard for her to breathe all day, so brain oxygen deprivation—” He needed a logical explanation. However, his verbal run through the diagnosis standards was muted by an aftershock.

New rumble worked out of the planet’s geology, Mollie spoke to Hoskins. “She doesn’t have the desire to come back and thinks she wants to die because it's what she deserves.”

“No, Laura.” He walked on his knees, passing Sha’leyen, to hover over the person who wanted to give up the fight. “Don’t give us this is bullshit.”

The taste of death inundated Mollie’s senses once more. Her confidence that she was doing the right thing by keeping Laura here ebbed. Replaced by snippets of ugly memories and the cruelties Laura spent years spewing at her, the compassion for all life suddenly didn’t include this maligned bully.

  
  
  
Wanton phaser fire only stopped when police weapons were vaporized, the hands that held those guns dissipated with temporarily-visible energy tentacles. The human contingent from Sandia shouted and waved the cauterized stumps of their shooting arms.

This was the notification that the evil was not confined to on-high. Licks of green/purple flame showed in peripheral vision. No heat, this colored fire moved along the ground, unimpeded by the water. The way it traced lines from the outer edges of the geyser plain and encroached on the trio attempting to retain Captain Hillyard. This had Sha’leyen’s mind calling upon a series of arsons she’d been a part of investigating. The Met responded to one house, reports of a dead body inside, and as the SOCOs readied to enter the scene, the home directly across the street went up like a pyre, trails of accelerant alighting and visiting destruction. She forced her mind to stay on Laura and not wandering to peripheral fires.

“Laura, get your ass out here.” Dr. Hoskins would not stop trying to get his boss’ attention. “Fuck, she’s fading again.”

And so was Mollie.

Sha’leyen sensed that the bitter rivals were giving up together. Figuring out which of them to hit with a jab of epinephrine didn’t matter because the medicine and its delivery system were missing from her med kit. No time to waste by getting pissed or wondering how she’d misplaced it, she had to switch over to a new plan.

“Thirty mils Zeerhophlytin Hydrochloride.” Hoskins dosed Laura with an unheard of until now drug. Getting to Sha’leyen before she could ask, he said, “It should increase her blood’s ability to bind oxygen.”

What do you have that can convince Laura that she wants to live? Sha’leyen wondered, knowing no such medicinal compound existed. “Mollie, you are her detour off the Path of Dying. Don’t let her turn around. . .”

  
  
  
. . . _gol-tor ko-kan ka vah tu_. . .

The el’i’ki, returned from its dispersal and hovered near Spock and Tralnor’s faces. Its coloration remained steady as the sky and ground churned with the coming of the Vohr. Neither of the Vulcans could postulate who found the tavalik duv-tor, who let it escape, and who’d sacrificed themselves so that the non-corporeal beast could interact with the living world again.

Not Laura, she was sprawled in Mollie’s arms. Not McCoy, he was too good-hearted. Tralnor didn’t think it was law enforcement. Spock thought the most likely person was the third man with Laura, the one who’d stayed at the cave.

“Sha’leyen did say it could merge with a human.” Spock said. “That it chose Laura’s companion and not her—”

Interrupted, not allowed to finish his line, Spock regarded their persistent blue visitor. It seemed to scrape away some of the darkness clotting in his mind. It repeated another of its earlier phrases. . . _dungi-tu ruskarau el’ru_. . .

“Who is this girl?” Tralnor explained that there were four females down on the geyser plain.

. . . _s’wok, ash-tor pla’rak. Fun s’tevahk-yut gol-tor ko-kan ka vahtu_. . .

 _From time, step back_. Spock considered this new expanded utterance. _Return from the Path of Dying, the girl like you_.

Spock drew the same conclusion as before. Of the women here, only one was remotely like him. Was T’Lal in trouble? Was he wrong? A new inimical voice broke through the attention bubble the el’i’ki had woven around him and Tralnor.

  
  
  
_Crack-pow_!

Kirk wasn’t going to say anything to Bones about making this ill-advised trip. What was the point? A second gunshot fired from a different direction and the weapon registered to Jim’s ears. Not wanting to get caught up in cross-fire, stray or ricocheted bullets, he was doing his damnedest to triangulate the locations of the triggermen.

Instinct and habit kept him reaching for the phaser he normally took into hairy landing party situations. In each instance, his lower brain kicked off into flight mode because it was convinced the lack of Starfleet-issue weapons meant there was no way to fight whatever the people up ahead were shooting at.

“Where’s Spock?” He’d take the answer from anyone and was met with three human I-don’t-knows and one dose of Vulcan silence. His heart couldn’t turn loose of the scene, Spock and Tralnor knocked down, one getting up and the other. . . Spock wouldn’t let himself be waterboarded by nature, not unless he was severely injured. In a place where there was so much wrong, it was telling when something stood out as off-kilter enough to be noticed.

Sohja halted them at the invisible demarcation between the mountain and the plain. Mottled blue in the lights faded her complexion, leaving her looking like a model at a wax museum. Kirk’s line of thought whiplashed through his mind. “We can’t stop now. Spock could still be on the other side of this place, hurt or dead, on that hill.”

“He is not dead, James.” Sohja’s conviction didn’t give him the faith that his beloved was approaching anything close to okay.

“I can’t just stand here and— _Holy fuck, what was that_?” Kirk and his party stared up at the fierce sky.

  
  
  
Words, thunderous and omnipotently disembodied, were inescapable audibly or psionically.

“I am returned to the living, forced to occupy the body of a man from a slave race, this vessel is the tool I need. . .” A tornado force wind blasted up the hill, clearing the treetops of branches, bird nests, and leaf litter. “I am triumphant, a warrior-king. All of T’Khasi is mine.”


	151. Chapter 151

As the witness to much human frivolity in the previous six years, Veddah was thoroughly unprepared for a meld with Joe. When he’d been a cadet, it was as if his entire cohort was out to needle him to the breaking point. Veddah refused to cave and retained his standing as a polite, cool-headed Vulcan. Throughout his miserable tour aboard USS Seren, he’d managed to keep himself together when almost everyone else was falling apart. He’d thought that because his crewmates had been human, that they lacked the fortitude to stop base emotional responses from overrunning their lives. Since meeting Laura, he’d learned a valuable lesson, that a few select humans put order to the bedlam in their heads.

Veddah’s perception of false sincerity on Joe’s behalf was replaced with the full knowledge that this man, a human, had the credentials to make his continued offer of assistance sans the want for something in return. This individual human was free from the shallow, bigoted, sometimes not all that well-hidden nastiness that permeated many of Seren’s so-called professionals. Avoiding spot fires of personal issues Joe was dealing with in his own life, Veddah was not driven away by untamed feelings.

Following the psychic landscape, he went with Joe’s mostly subconscious journey to the part of him that acted as the signal booster. Veddah sensed the t’hy’la bond this man had and got the impression that Joe’s shield brother cared deeply for the shaggy-headed blond.

“I think I’ve taken you where you need to go.” Joe said. “If not, you’re just going to have to dig around until you find what you’re looking for.”

He shouldn’t want to save Laura. Upon learning that her death wasn’t going to set off his own demise, that was where another man would have walked away. He envisioned what his former crewmates would have wanted him to do and every outcome involved mean-spirited reprisal. Captain Franklin, if he was still alive, assuredly had plans of getting his hands on Laura and wringing her neck after hours of carefully plotted abuse. How many would threaten to kick Veddah’s ass for helping someone they thought deserved an ugly death?

“Don’t be like those people, Lieutenant.” Joe affirmed Veddah’s desire to draw Laura back from the brink. “You’re better than that.”

Veddah tapped into Joe’s mental circuitry and launched off to his Adun’a.

  
  
  
The Vohr finished its introduction. “I am Hinek-senapa Tostausu, and the body I occupy is a temporary vessel. I shall choose one of you to become my permanent host where we will leave with my prize.”

Tralnor recalled that a senapa was a kind of knife that had been preferred by assassins eons ago. Curved and coated in a fast-acting neurotoxin, such weapons were once common. That this pre-Reform fragment announced itself as Bone Shard the Executioner, said that Sha’leyen’s research was absolutely correct. The tavalik duv-tor was a holding cell for a phantasmic Vulcan warlord. Where the el’i’ki was a soul that had lost the person it had once been part of, Tostausu was all personality with nothing to anchor it down.

His and Spock’s el’i’ki friend vibrated, giving off immense fear. It didn’t buzz off like a frightened bird as it had with Portman’s arrival. Instead, it kept with them and held its ground while Bone Shard spoke of being granted an appropriate reward after his interminable exile from the realm of the living.

“That it made reference to bohraya means that it is already aware of you, Tralnor.” Spock wasn’t looking at the ethereal hurricane above them.

. . . _ko-kan ka vah tu_. . . The el’i’ki appeared to tuck itself into the grass and brush, still going on about some mystery girl.

“Spock, if it means keeping Tostausu from exploiting my abilities, you have to kill me.” Tralnor’s request landed on Spock in such a way that he wanted to immediately go against the only reasonable course of action.

“ _Mair-rigolauya, you are mine_!.”

That declaration drew a temporary modicum of Spock’s attention. When he re-centered on Tralnor, he noticed that the younger man had blocked him out of his mind in the same manner as on Melbek III. If he didn’t pull back that telepathic connection, it was to Spock’s detriment.

“Tralnor, it does not have to end that way.”

“We don’t have a choice. We can’t let this beast can’t escape Pezig’s Gate. The results would be beyond catastrophic. So while it's distracted by trying to find me, you and the others can destroy it.” Another beat, another mention of death. “I don’t care how you do it, just take me out so it doesn’t.”

“You are bes’tek mas-yuu, forever, Tralnor.” T’Pau and Clan Surak’s social decorum kept them from acknowledging one another as cousins, so Spock employed the Old Lyr Saan workaround: As slaves, Lyr Saan were not legally allowed to have relatives, and referred to said people as companions.

  
  
  
Sha’leyen telepathically captured T’Lal’s notice. Tostausu’s arrival set off a series of contingencies the bioarchaeologist had not wanted to use. Unable to account for every possible outcome, one where she was trying to doctor someone who needed care beyond her ability to provide was not a turn she’d have imagined. This left her trapped with her patient. There was no way to deliver and administer liemen to those who needed it to survive.

Portman’s crew, they’d stopped shooting when the amputations reined down. T’Lal could use the break in human-sourced violence and greed to collect the medication and get it to Sohja and her companions. Sha’leyen handed off two vials, gave a rapid explanation of that to give to which person, and sent T’Lal to try and save at least a few people.

After T’Lal fled, Sha’leyen’s blood froze. Tostausu’s claim over Tralnor made her want to run for her Beloved and shield him. It would not succeed, but she would die fighting for what mattered.

“Tralnor, please, no.” Mollie pained for her kid brother. She had her back to the boys’ position up on the hillside and had only her mind’s eye with which to picture them. To distract from personal anguish, she repeated a verse. “What is, is. . .”

“And what will be, will be.” Sha’leyen finished the quote, but the philosopher’s words gave no insight into the burgeoning tragedy.

“I’m out of Lanearsic EX, sub-lingual and IM. The hypospray form is too unstable for fieldwork.” The doctor shook an empty ampule before hurling it as far and as hard as he could.

“Mollie, I do not have that drug nor anything that works in the same way. You have got to bring her round. Make her mind engage, and it doesn’t matter how you do it. Charm her, insult her, piss her off, just get her back.”

  
  
  
“How are we able to understand what this ancient monster is saying?” McCoy inched up closer to Sohja. “I really wish we didn’t. Some ignorance would be bliss right about now.”

“It’s that stupid fucker.” Lt. Ryan clutched at her temples.

“The scumbag who pissed all over Veddah’s side of the bed?” From his limited knowledge of Laura’s terminated exec, the doctor felt that his whole living night terror was that much worse for having such an utter waste of humanity merged into the what-do-you-call-it dove-tour.

“That’s the guy.” Morgana confirmed.

“Lt. Ryan is correct. How that affects the creature’s behavior, I haven’t the slightest insight to share.” Sohja’s eyes darted about, assessing the geyser plain to the best the weather allowed.

“I wouldn’t if I was you, Tinkerbell.” Captain Cody warned her friend off from making an Olympic time-trial run toward Mollie and Sha’leyen.

“There is a medication that Lt. Commander Sha’leyen has in her supplies that will increase all of your chances at survival.” Sohja sought out McCoy’s support. “It will grant you temporary psionic shielding that Tostausu will have great difficulty cutting through.”

Jim didn’t like how this was sounding. “That’s us, what about you?”

She didn’t have an answer like she’d never considered how she was expected to make it to the finish line. “Pardon?”

“Are you bringing back enough for everybody?” Kirk badgered. “You being part of everybody?”

“Your question is off-base, James.” Sohja held off Buffalo Bill who was twitching like she’d wrestle the Vulcan to the floor and pin her under a boulder to keep her from being reckless.

“Tinkerbell, now is not the time to be all intractable.”

“I am not stubborn, Maeve.” Sohja didn’t let Cody get in the next word. “I am the fourth member of a kennuk and am acting in accordance with my duties.”

  
  
  
Laura wasn’t letting Mollie go any deeper into her mind without a fight. Where Mollie had training and nuance on how to go about melds, Laura, in this one place, still had that fierce strength about her, sending out thorns and ire. (Laura, let me in.)

The dying woman’s subconscious went about snarling and lunging, letting Mollie know that she could, under no uncertain terms, get the fuck out. This delegated one choice on how to break through. This wasn’t about finding gaps in the chinking between the slats of Laura’s mental fortress, it was finding the front door and crawling in through the cat flap. Locating that point of access wasn’t terribly difficult, the marriage bond with Veddah was Mollie’s avenue.

Sunshine, dry heat, early afternoon tangerine sky, this was a mental facsimile of Goodwill Square, a public park in the center of ShiKhar. It was void of all people save for Laura. She was years younger, a thick, full head of long golden hair, and she appeared healthy. Two blinks and a full-length mirror was beside the career criminal.

On approach, Mollie processed their reflections. Showing back at them were the fifteen-year-old girls who’d met in that onerous history class at Consolidated Terran School. (Laura, come back with me.)

(Two days after you and your siblings crashed into my universe, I got the results of my second exam battery for placement into ShiKhar’s schools.) She held up the report. Her academic scores alone should have guaranteed her a slot at the most prestigious school in the city. (I went to everyone who could have stood up for me and was fobbed off like a moronic child. My last stop was our Embassy. No one there would argue my case to the education officials.)

(That’s rotten.) Mollie trod lightly.

Laura imitated one of the human diplomats. (‘Why would you want to go to school with _these people_? Vulcans are humorless and arrogant on a good day. I’d hate to think what they’d put you through, their curricula are notoriously difficult. In my experience, kiddo, the only people who want to make things a million times harder on themselves are narcissists and idiots.’)

(Tatyana gave Livia some of the details about how poorly your case was handled.) Mollie still wondered what the real story was behind Laura’s exclusion.

(To me, it only ever seemed like you were handed everything I’d fought for, no work or struggle on your end. All you needed to do was show up and Vulcan rolled out the red carpet.) Laura couldn’t address Mollie face-to-face. (I know now, after a lot of years of contemplation, that you weren’t the one I needed to be so fucking pissed at. I owe you an apology.)

(Let’s not worry about that right now.) Mollie took this as a sign that she’d captured Laura’s attention well enough to start walking her out of her internal hiding place.

Laura ignored Mollie’s outstretched hand. (My real fight is with administrators and bureaucrats, but it’s too late for any of that.)

(Laura?)

The pirate captain yawned. (I am exhausted to the farthest reaches of my soul.)

 _Shit_! Mollie thought to herself. Conjured from her own dreamscape, Laura sank back into an overstuffed sofa and let her eyelids grow heavy. If she went to sleep in here, that action would be fatal. (Laura, this isn’t the time to snooze.)

(I’d really love it if you’d fuck off and let me have a nap.)

Snapping fingers, shaking shoulders, Mollie was losing her. (You were right, you were always right.)

A dulling blue eye regarded Mollie and expressed that Laura didn’t much care what became of her from that point on. No smug cutthroatedness, just a woman easing onto the final links on the Path of Dying.

(I wanted everything you had.) Mollie was done minding her manners and curtailing her speech. The animosity held back when Laura confronted her out there in the rain was artifact, given the proper Lyr Saan introspection, and mostly filed away. Mollie would try and affect the emotion she’d felt when she was still the girl in the mirror. Channeling fifteen-year-old Malia Ah’delvna was like stepping back into a well-worn shirt. (And I still do.)

( _Goodnight, MacCormack_.)

(I wanted your brains, your beauty, your easy way of socializing that made people ally themselves to you without any kindness on your behalf.) When they were the age as presented in this anachronistic reflection, that was very much Mollie’s sentiment. (I wanted your freedom. I knew I’d never crawl out from under the cultural mores and duties I was expected to live up to on the Ah’delevna and MacCormack sides of my family. You don’t know it, but Legacy and adherence to it can be suffocating.)

That one eye hadn’t closed. Laura was still there, barely.

(I was jealous that you got to live a fairly normal life.)

A pop of a spark. . .

(You could wear what you wanted, socialize with who you wanted, go where you wanted, and all you could ever do was bitch about it, at me, at teachers, at anyone who foolishly held still long enough. Bitch, bitch, bitch. . . For what?)

A muddled pupil tightened into focus. . .

(And that was part of the allure, Laura.) Mollie’s trawling was starting to pay off. (You could be a horrible cunt to everyone and get away with it because you were outside of the rules. If you were ice cold or jacked on emotion, it didn’t matter, you were vicious and every action you ever took was inconsequential.)

Not at a place where she could muster the energy to call bullshit on Mollie, Laura lay her head on the arm of the sofa and remained mildly entertained.

(I’ll say it again. You were right.) Mollie leaned into Laura’s face. (I want it all, your lack of obligation, your ability to thrive outside of the law, and I want your man.)

Daggers.

(You’ve treated him like filth, Laura. You _hate_ him just like you hate me, our only crime is existing. You assaulted him and didn’t keep the abuse to the disgusting shit where you tied him to your bed. You couldn’t help yourself, you had to fuck with his mind too!)

Anger sent a vibration through Laura’s jaw, both eyes drilled into Mollie.

( _You. Don’t. Deserve. Him_.) Mollie hoped she was doing a good enough acting job that Laura didn’t see through her. (I will relish it, watching you fucking sit there and die, and I walk away from Pezig’s Gate with Veddah on my arm—)

This time there was power in Laura’s swing, and for a place that shared more in common with the projection of an image on a screen than the corporeal world, the connection of the pirate’s fist to Mollie’s face was like slamming into a wall. Laura recoiled when she saw that Mollie smiled.

Mollie touched at her jaw. (Got you now, Hillyard. . .)


	152. Chapter 152

Like a description of a medieval demon indiscriminately blended with one of the old comic book superheroes Joe so often told Sohja about, Tostausu kept to a standing position and his body propelled across the sky in a controlled burst of light and motion. She consulted Morgana. “Is that your crewman, Lt. Ryan?”

Sweetness’ current first officer gave the middle finger to the man she’d succeeded. “Now that we know your monster is wearing a Silvio suit, what can we do to take him out?”

“Does being shacked up in a human meat puppet mean that Tostausu has human vulnerabilities?” Buffalo Bill deliberately grabbed a handful of the back of Sohja’s jacket.

“Let us hope that is the situation, Maeve.” She didn’t shake off her friend’s grasp.

“I didn't think hope was logical.” McCoy squinted at the light cast from the geyser plain. Tostausu halted forward progression and hovered some twenty-five meters above Mollie and Sha’leyen.

“It is not.” Sohja said. “It is an illogical sentiment for a place that exists outside of reason. Hope may wind up being the only thing we have got left to get us out of here.”

“I’ll take hope.” Kirk closed one eye and tried to use a broken pair of field glasses as a monocular. A couple of curses under his breath and he tossed the useless equipment to the ground. “Because not seeing Spock means I can’t depend on anything else to keep me from losing my mind right now.”

“Oh, shit. Someone’s coming this way.” Buffalo Bill pointed out a fast-moving silhouette closing in.

 _I want it to be T’Lal_ , Sohja thought to herself. She unholstered her pistol in case it was not.

  
  
  
Laura didn’t think her hand should be hurting after popping Mollie, but it throbbed, serving as a reminder that squatting on death’s door didn’t mean she was dead. (I should have hit you harder.)

Mollie leered and treated her old antagonist to another creepy smile. (I want you to remember what I said: _Croak and he’s mine_.)

(I hope you’re familiar with weapons-grade spite.) Fist balled and cocked back, Laura almost walloped her again, when this figment of imagination was visited by a cool breeze.

(Someone’s here.) Mollie searched over Laura’s shoulders for the person or thing setting off into the pirate’s mind.

She directed Mollie’s gaze and pointed to a harebrained human male who didn’t possess enough neurons to not flop about and subject himself to dangerous experiences where if he got hurt or lost, he’d have no way to escape. (What is your golden retriever doing here, MacCormack?)

Laura, after their altercation had gone right back to her comfy sofa. She immediately refused the offer of help up from her seat and actively swung at Mollie to get her to step away.

(Holy black eye, Batman.) Joe went slightly cross-eyed at Mollie, her dreamscape self had a goose egg on her cheek and a left eye going to purple. (We need to get both of you out of here.)

( _Bat Man_? Is he the main deity shepherding your cult of offbeat surfer-boy SoCal beach bums?) Laura remained unimpressed.

(Joe?) Mollie would have liked an answer from him on the how and why he was in Hillyard’s subconscious. (I’m sure your compelling reason for being here is a valid one.)

(Hey, Mollie. I’m not going to interfere.) He gave a finger waggle to her in greeting. (I’m only here because someone needed a boost.)

This Joe guy stepped aside, allowing Veddah to enter the scene. The tired Vulcan looked browbeaten and scared. (Adun’a, come back. I need you.)

Caught between wanting to comfort her young husband and outlining the realities of her physical compromise, Laura kept silent. She let Veddah approach this idealized remembrance of her body. His fingers interlocked with hers and she set her forehead on his shoulder. This short primer on what a beautiful person he was illustrated some of Mollie’s points. Laura had done everything short of committing murder against him and even in front of people, he still claimed her as his wife.

Through an impending sense of dread, unrealized fear, and self-loathing, Laura said, (Veddah, I need you.)

  
  
  
_You don’t have to love me. . . Just come home_. The last words Jim said to Spock still hung heavy in the science officer’s mind. Taking that voice in his head and materializing Jim’s request was in direct opposition to making an imprudent attempt at helping Tralnor emerge from this ordeal with his life. Duty, friendship, family, love, all commingled in a rupture in his controls. Logic and desire waged an all-out war against one another, taking advantage of that tavalik duv-tor-induced fear/melancholy/self-detestation. He knew a disinterested approach to these issues and people involved was the mannerly path, but his aching heart revealed nothing but crumbled buttresses.

El’i’ki still chattered and its irritation at his and Tralnor’s poor clue-interpretation sent it whipping around their ankles. Spock leaned over to address it in a respectful manner only to have Tralnor take hold of his shoulder and restore him to standing. What little remained of Silvio Mazzi came down off the mountain in an almost Biblical approach.

“Tell me again, Spock.” Tralnor prodded, forcing Spock into accepting the right actions and reinforce them by stating it out loud.

“I am to kill you before Tostausu claims you.”

Before Tralnor could make him promise to follow through, two of Portman’s henchmen, who’d squirrelled themselves away in any number of dim somewheres, raised their phaser rifles and fired. Bone Shard the Executioner took the hits like he didn’t register the energy blasts as attempts to take him down. The preternatural Vohr halted, possibly contemplated that these men were on the same level as cockroaches or mosquitoes, and let one have the delightful experience of seeing/feeling/hearing every individual joint in his hands wrenching into non-anatomical formations. The second guy lit up Tostausu again, another shot may have been on the way, but the local cop’s head exploded into a fine mist of blood, brains, and skull.

“His Woman earned his disdain.” Tostausu, his feet possibly trod the ground, strode toward Portman’s shuttle. “But first I will extract the blackened mind of that one. He has the knowledge to put me at an advantage to seek the burning sands of T’Khasi.”

Fully understanding the monster referred to a certain Pezig’s Gate government official, the running lights on Lincoln Portman’s vehicle flipped on. There was no telling what moronic reinforcements the Minister of the Interior would drag out here.

“That ground shall run green in pursuit of victory.”

Spock edged too close to saying that Portman deserved the death to be inflicted on him. Scolding himself, he refused to pander to the short-term payoff vengeance offered. He swallowed whatever nameless snarl of emotion clogged his gullet and purposefully unsnapped his holster. Yes, he would kill Tralnor if the need arose.

  
  
  
“One of your Vulcan paranormal hit-squad should have said something about this, this undead zombie monster.” Kirk kept trying to talk as T’Lal administered something rocket-propelled up his nose and through the back of his neck. She got a firm hold of his chin and got him in such a way that he quit muttering at her, even when she let him go. She’d hit a nerve or something. . .

She went to McCoy and he wanted to run but thought better of it. Tostausu, wild animals, bad weather, those were surmountable. Escaping T’Lal was not. “Jim’s got a point.”

“James, Mollie explained to you that neither you nor Enterprise would be of any assistance to us, that you were more likely to get your people hurt. You did not heed warnings and now you are underfoot and in danger.” She dosed Bones and asked Billie to come over. “We understood that you wanted to help, that your natural inclination is to whole-heartedly support those who are in trouble.”

Tostausu let off a snort/grunt that reminded Jim too much of an angry bull bison making ready to turn some hapless idiot into chum. His jaw working again, “We’re here now, no thanks to my surgeon. What can we do to help?”

“Oh, shit. Sohja.” Billie had to loosen her grip on Sohja’s jacket to comply with T’Lal’s request. “What are you doing—”

Multiple bangs in rapid succession met Jim’s ears. He couldn’t see what was shot or who fired. “Okay, so some of us are out of our element. That doesn’t mean that we can’t get Spock and Tralnor off the hill opposite us.”

Billie’s pilot was not playing Kirk’s game. “You will remain here, out of the way, and stay as safe as possible. The Vohr should not be able to sense your minds and unless you deliberately draw attention to yourselves, you stand a chance at surviving.”

Sohja returned, swapped out ammunition magazines, and stared toward the surly Executioner. “I do not know who is in the shuttle that is preparing to lift off, but its human pilot must be stopped before he grants Tostausu’s wish to leave Pezig’s Gate.”

“We’re not going to hide in the bushes like scared children.” He was cool, choosing his words deliberately, but with enough force to prove he wasn’t kidding. “Your son is up there too, T’Lal.”

T’Lal refused to engage, thus Jim dug in harder. “You know, until now, I’d thought that you were the compassionate one, Captain. You were the one who’d do whatever you could for your child. You’re not only heartless about someone else’s son but your own as well.”

“Jimmy.” Buffalo Bill tried to ward him off.

“You’re letting your own kid be this number four bullshit and it’s bleeding over to Spock based on proximity alone. Let us do something, fuck up this Silvio creature, collect my first officer, and get the hell out of here.” Jim moved in closer, staring directly into T’Lal’s slave-green eyes.

“James, we will deploy you when we need you.” Sohja set a hand on his arm. “Until then, stay back.”

“Don’t try and humor me right now. I don’t think Spock and Tralnor have the time to waste lingering on that hill. When Billie and I saw them, they were exhausted and drenched. That they haven’t come down yet means there is something absolutely wrong up there.” Why was this argument taking place?

“Like you, my boys are safer where they are.” T’Lal refused to hear him.

“ _Your boys_? Let’s not pretend, Captain. Step aside and I will get Spock.”

“He will stay with Tralnor.” T’Lal was done her word final.

“Bull—” Sohja stopped Kirk from making the situation any worse. The second half of his chosen descriptor of the scene playing out carried on a whisper. “—shit.”

“Tostausu knows Tralnor is here and what he is. It is very possible that Spock will need to pull the trigger and shoot our friend dead.” Sohja finally got Jim to shut up and butt out.

Remembering that very first meeting with Dr. Tralnor, Kirk had thought that the band director’s genetic legacy sounded downright horrific. “I understand. . .”

  
  
  
Looking into her recreation of Vulcan’s red skies, she thought she might have heard a loudspeaker’s output drifting in from several hundred meters away. She wasn’t liking the sound of the voice and had no desire to learn what it was saying. (Why does this person sound familiar?)

Mollie offered a rapid description of what they were facing out on the geyser plain. Almost sick, Laura said, (That fucking dirtbag.)

(Adun’a?) Veddah didn’t have to ask for more detail. His face said that he knew what was rumbling.

(Silvio.) Laura gritted her teeth. ( _Mollie, Golden Retriever, you need to make that man into finely minced pile of chum_.)

(We’ll get him.) Mollie too looked toward the noise.

(Guys, I’ve got to go.) Joe, already partially disengaged from this mind space, continued. (I don’t know if that means Veddah can’t stay. . .)

(I wish—) Veddah began.

Joe pitched forward, winded, and clutching at the center of his chest. (He needs me to focus. . . Before his heart stops. . . I’m sorry.)

(Say goodbye to your husband, for now, Laura. I’ve got to send them back.) Mollie sensed Hillyard was involved enough with the current disaster that she wasn’t going to try and turn down the Path of Dying in the immediate moment.

Laura grasped Veddah’s first two fingers on his right hand and brought them to her lips. Another blink and the men were gone. She immediately longed for him, touching the air he’d just occupied. (Mollie, I don’t think I can exist without him.)

(You won’t have to.)

  
  
  
Mollie encroached, set her fingertips on Laura’s face, and threaded herself deeper into additional sectors of the pirate’s brain. (Now that you’re amongst the living again, I’m going to pull a couple threads of your consciousness forward to ignite the right electrical and chemical processes in your head to fully project you out of here.)

(Be careful. Silvio is a right bastard.)

(Your body is going to remain semi-comatose, you won’t be conscious, but you’ll be stable enough to move now.) Mollie took her hand away.

(I mean it, Mollie. You have to be weary around him or he’ll cut your throat before you know he’s even made the attempt.) Rather forlorn, Laura shifted topic. (You know, Veddah is the only person who’s ever valued me, horrid, fucking hideous me. . .)

Aware of the rain, shivering in the low temperature, Mollie felt a startle at the current face Laura wore. (Laura, we’ll help you build on your positive qualities. You're not fated to only be remembered as a villainous pirate. Veddah has found and seized on the decency and grace you've always retained. Don't let this be the end for either of you.)

(He's saved me from myself. . .)

Hand out as an offer of solidarity, Mollie was set up to pull Laura out of this self-initiated purgatory. ( _Laura_ \--)

“Fuck!” The Sweetness’ doctor whooped. “You got her. Let’s put her on a field gurney and get the hell away from this shit.”

Mollie wasn’t aware of who presented the gurney first, but the person-sized tarp with carry handles was compact and easy to haul around. She blindly followed the prompts doled out by Sha’leyen and Hoskins. Barely aware of Tostausu’s ranting, more concerned with Laura’s wellbeing, Mollie was not tapped into the monster’s real-world antics at first.

A disturbance not too far from Mollie’s position sounded like sheering metal. She saw Tostausu rip through the fuselage of Lincoln Portman’s shuttle and the human once known as Silvio flicked his wrist and dragged the repulsive crybaby through the mud. A telekinetic smack upside the head did nothing to focus the Minister.

“Colonel Barret!” Portman shrieked the man’s name a time or two before attempting to tell Tostausu that assaulting a Pezig’s Gate government official was a felony offense. “You ass-faced dipshit, you don’t get to show up on my planet, steal my gold, and fuck me over. Do you want to go to jail!”

One of the few remaining police officers popped out of the undergrowth to tug at the body of his downed friend. He told Portman to fuck himself. The lawman didn’t get a shot off against the Executioner. All it took was raising his phaser and he was stopped at the sight and sound of his entrails falling from his abdomen and splashing into the mud. A mercy shot from No. 742 and that man was gone.

  
  
  
“I’m so fucking glad the cloud ceiling has lifted. I was starting to think we’d have to circumnavigate the whole damned planet just to start heading toward home.” Ranger Mason was pretty sure this was a positive sign. “I’m still wondering, what do you think we hit?”

Sgt. Rusk made a raspberry sound. “I don’t like it out here. It’s creepy.”

“Creepy as hell.” Their sudden change in direction coupled with the inability to secure their bearing shot the backcountry rangers tumbling over a parcel of overgrown forest that the Vulcans had not carved roads through. As they approached the multi-kilometer spanning hot spring on the edge of the ancient civilization, a new addition to their strange day glowed up ahead. “You know anything about that?”

“Nope, not item one.”

“It’s kind of pretty, from here.” Mason wanted for it to be just that, some pretty lights put out by the geologists Portman had come screaming out hereafter.

“What about all of that blue forked lightning?” Rusk had gone to a mostly disengaged state. “It’s been good working with you, Mason.”

“Huh?” Too distracted by what sensor readings he could get and the eerie scene set out on the sintery bit of flat land leading out to the spring, Mason wasn’t hearing his boss.

“I wish this was ending better for you. I’m an old guy.” Rusk scowled at his hands, Mason believing that his supervisor had flipped a switch in his head and envisioned a rapid apocalypse on the near horizon.

“Holy shit, Sarge. George Sharpe, he’s right down there.” Ranger Mason pointed out the human he’d spoken to earlier. “. . . three, four,—Bodies, lots of bodies down there. . .”

“Domestics, I don’t like doing domestics.” Sgt. Rusk saw what his subordinate was talking about. “I’d say let’s try and get the fuck out of crazytown, but we’re not leaving.”

“Sarge?”

“Your guy is being read the riot act by none other than Lincoln-fucking-Portman.” Pissed, Rusk said, “Stupid fucker’s seen us. We’ve got our marching orders now.”

Mason cussed and banked their shuttle. Someone had to save that asshole because if he got out of this alive and learned who’d abandoned him to a curb-stomping that he undoubtedly earned, Mason and Rusk could kiss their asses goodbye.

Portman did an impression of a man jumping and waving his arms. Believing he was greeting his salvation, he gesticulated at his backcountry saviors and spit at George Sharpe.

The ranger shuttle gave a bob and started on a vertical descent. “You got any of that rip-stop tape for the good Minister’s mouth?”

“In the tool kit, Sarge—” Mason stuttered and tried to reverse course.

Lincoln Portman went from trying to swing his dick around to George Sharpe nailing him with a punch of jewel-toned light, peeling back the layers of flesh and setting fire to kilos of fat. A pluck of Sharpe’s fingers in the air, and that same energy redirected to Portman’s would-be rescuers.

Mason and Rusk glanced at one another and said their silent farewells.


	153. Chapter 153

Globules of combusting adipose hurled down from where the backcountry rangers’ shuttle had hung. The stench of burning human fat combined with the fiery explosion set off when the people at the yolks flashed over and detonated left Mollie and Sha’leyen hacking and gagging whilst trying to protect themselves and Laura from the brimstone of shuttle wreckage.

They’d lost Hoskins about two meters ago. He’d gone to the floor, wracked by his primal fear of the world at large. Knotted into the fetal position, he bellowed his pain. If it was from what he saw here or the reactivation of an old trauma, it was hard to tell.

“Mollie, get Hillyard and I’ll pull the doctor back from the dark place he’s been sucked into.” Sha’leyen crept off to recover Hoskins.

Before she could acknowledge Sha’leyen’s instruction, her torso was wracked by savage pain. So sudden, this feeling of being cut to ribbons left her gasping for air and clutching her side knowing this was the anatomical space where a Vulcan’s heart should be. Mollie went back down into the mud and croaked a few words, her brother’s words. “No Spock, we won’t let you. . .”

  
  
  
Billie caught Sohja before the Vulcan collapsed. Kirk immediately thought she’d been hit by something flying off the destroyed craft, but she appeared unharmed. It was when T’Lal doubled over and started coughing that Jim made some connections.

“How about now to employ some slower, weaker, dumber humans to help you out?”

T’Lal said nothing as she collected herself before checking the ammo in both her handgun and rifle, and sped away toward the action.

“Dr. Hoskins. . .” Morgana had to look away, assuming the worst had happened to her friend.

“Sohja?” Billie prodded. “Are you hurt?”

“She’s hiding something.” McCoy started a rapid evaluation. “I’ve gotten pretty damned good over the last four years at telling when you people are blocking us out instead of lying.”

“Say something, Dr. t’Gef-Zehl.” Jim got up on her and Billie. Nope, the Vulcan closed her eyes and chose to keep ignoring the humans around her. It was tempting to try and smack the truth out of her, but that would work about as well as things were going now.

“This is a pain reaction.” McCoy cursed about something. “I don’t have anything to give her that’s going to lessen that.”

“It’s those fucking melds.” Jim accused. “We’re seeing this Number Four garbage in all its glory. I’m going to ask you one more time what the fuck is going on? You keep your mouth shut and I’m forced to take my chances out there to figure this shit out.”

“We need our Mair-rigolauya. . . before Tostausu destroys him.”

While he’d heard this explanation several times already, the tone and cadence of her words were different, somehow more urgent. “Why?”

Sohja choked and struggled for air. “I must disengage. . .”

“Goddamnit! Tell me!” Kirk felt himself shriek.

“We are trying to share the pain to lift his burden.” The color, what was visible of it in this strange light, depleted her features.

 _A straight fucking answer out of one of you obtuse people is all I want_ , Kirk thought.

“So much death right here.” Sohja sat down with help from her old friend. “It is a dignified death we are trying to give right now. . .”

“You know what, I’m done with this farce. Bones, you’re with me, and we’re going to find Mr. Spock since these assholes can’t be bothered.”

Sohja slipped into Modern Golic and said something only Billie could understand. Captain Cody looked up at Jim. “She’s telling you to give Spock your final goodbyes.”

  
  
  
Slithering from beneath the folded down seats, Joe felt confident that he’d gotten Veddah sufficiently calmed that he could turn his attention to Sarek. His hearing picked up more human misery as he met his charge out on the ramp.

“Now is not the time for distractions, Mr. Bergman.” Sarek sighted in on the squalling man whose feet were buried in his own gut pile.

Hands up, acquiescing just long enough for Sarek to take the shot and end the law enforcement officer’s suffering, Joe returned to his mission. “Sir, how am I doing this?”

Shallow, rapid breathing, tremoring upper extremities, Sarek didn’t want his body compromised and tried to continue as he’d always done, by pretending like he wasn’t afflicted by cardiac issues. He simply wanted to tend to himself and not burden others.

Adjusting to hold the rifle by the stock, one-handed, he made to reach into one of his many tactical pockets. Joe took advantage and got hold of that one bit of uncovered skin that was not the Vulcan’s face. _Sarek, don’t fight me on this_.

As a human with very little active exposure to psionic minds, Joe tried to think his own about slower pulse, lower blood pressure, less accelerated breathing. He swore he felt Sarek unwind a fraction and put more effort into responding to all of these outside threats.

(I have a conscious foothold in your vital signs, Mr. Bergman. You may let go now.)

“Yes, Sir.”

Sarek was ready to say something when the fat man hollering at the Vohr was flayed and roasted like a bacon-wrapped scallop. Of the gruesome deaths they’d witnessed today, that was the most sickening one yet. Before a reassessment of the dangers, Tostausu’s wrath shifted from the barbecued mound of fat and long bones to the shuttle now trying for escape velocity.

A witness to thousands of planned explosions through his career in the motion picture business, Joe didn’t transition into a state of shock like one might believe. He and Sarek hoofed it back into the shuttle to dodge the shower of debris.

No time to think about who’d blown up in that shuttle, real concern for their people on the ground multiplied. Eyes watering from a new burst of pain, Joe thought this was it, Sarek’s heart couldn’t take anymore and got a fistful of the ambassador’s jacket, knowing he couldn’t get the much heavier man up if he went to the floor.

Physical and mental agony, capitalized by fear, Sarek was positively bedraggled and that rapidly shifted into a soul-shattering grief. Almost choking, he said, “ _My son_. . .”

  
  
  
Hoskins wasn’t unconscious or catatonic, but he’d mostly shut down. He’d covered his eyes, digging his nails into the skin on his forehead, and eight little rivulets of red ran down his face. Sha’leyen didn’t have the telepath’s easy out on getting the doctor going again. His mind was all but impenetrable due to the leimen.

Her hand over his, she scooted in close enough that he could hear her. “I do not know your demons.”

The doctor twitched. “I’m no better than that fucking Silvio. Save your help for someone who deserves to live.”

Sha’leyen knew the body containing Bone Shard the Executioner was once Hoskins’ crew-mate. “That is not important to me or anyone else right now.”

“Leave me for the beast, Starfleet. It's a better death than I could ever have hoped for.”

“You’re obviously loyal to your captain.” She got the hand she was touching to lift off his face. “She still needs you.”

Sha’leyen reminded him that his life still had a purpose when he’d thought that his work was done. “Laura is—”

“Awaiting your continued ministrations, doctor.”

Hoskins’ moved, his intention of helping Laura the motivation. He reminded himself that he could do this.

  
  
  
He’d not been able to save his mother or his innocent animal friends that died with her that day, but he might still be able to save Laura. The redheaded woman was right. He let her declaration of purpose jolt him back into physician mode. Hoskins went to tell Starfleet one more thing she probably needed to know as one of the medics on Laura’s case. Two words into his divulgence and the commanding Vulcan-like woman tripped on an unknown obstacle, then an invisible rope dragged her away by the ankles.

“Hold on!” Hoskins got a fistful of her jacket. She latched onto him, feeling like she might break his bones with her bare hands, and he dug his boot heels into the unstable turf. The Silvio-thing hauled both of them closer to the patch of ground he used as his pulpit.

“Doctor, get to the shuttle!”

Pried apart with such force that Hoskins went one way, still clutching the arm torn off the redhead’s jacket, he fought gravity to get on his feet and run for Laura. He wanted to follow Starfleet’s instruction and was stopped and compressed into the saturated soil.

“You go nowhere.” Bone Shard/Silvio decreed. “His captain is this one’s prize to do with as he may.”

There was more than the sensation of smothering overloading Hoskins’ body. He was purposely being shorted out sans the monster fucking around with the vet’s thoughts. Hoskins bellowed, hurling his anger at Silvio. “You soft-bellied, pussy-assed, pampered, stupid fucking rich princess! Gag on my cock, Mazzi!”

A sense that the man born to the human suit was a larger element of the pontificating monster that it seemed at first, it smiled at Hoskins and said, “I have better prey to feast on, Doc.”

Starfleet was planted face-to-face with Silvio, telekinetic restraints holding her captive, Hoskins decided to take another run at getting into the shuttle. He lost consciousness as he realized he’d been flicked, just another dried hunk of snot, and impacted against the side of the Shuttle Direct craft.

  
  
  
Chris asked Seltun to listen in on something he might have found on another channel. Seltun gave careful though rapid consideration. Kuznetsov gave them a few seconds to come to a consensus on what they’d snagged, then prompted O’Dell to offer up the information, useful or not.

“Lt. Seltun’s picked up an undetected simultaneous transmission that’s ghosting around on Operations 3.” Chris was up and back over to the communications board. Still stepping over the engineers working to ungum the works, he patched back into the live channel. “Commerce 9, I believe, is bleeding over.”

“This is helpful to us how?” The captain needed results.

“With our equipment all stoved up, it’s the only way we’ve got to listen in on certain conversation. We’ve now got the back-and-forth between MV Sweetness and MV Woebegone.”

Sarah had taken over monitoring and transcribing Woebegone’s transmissions, Seltun got Sweetness with his more acute hearing, and Chris was both documenting the bullshit certain assholes were sending out from Enterprise and trying to help the engineers from his board.

This ticked on for an uneventful few minutes until the view of a generic habitable planet changed. Cosgriff knotted his brow and said, “Holy—What the hell is that?”

The bridge crew stared in wonderment as multi-kiloton mushroom cloud streamed toward the stratosphere in an eruption of blue. Where the updraft and condensation of a nuclear detonation would leave concentric rings of vapor radiating out from the blast column, this evolved into something altogether more sinister.

“It’s like _Night on Bald Mountain_.” Mr. Sulu said of the scene playing out.

Remembering aerial footage from hurricanes that she’d seen in an undergraduate-level geography course, Sarah could give positive confirmation that what played out on the main viewer was not a tropical storm. Twisting up over the near-center of a landmass, the ground where Dr. Tralnor and the others were smothered beneath this inexplicable phenomena.

“Whatever they were looking for. . .” Sarah had no idea what she was seeing. “It just found them.”

  
  
  
Tralnor and Spock started toward their previous elevation. They both thought it safer to approach this mess from the same direction as the giant hot spring. They wanted to sneak up to the armed ShuttleDirect rig with minimal notice and retake Sha’leyen and T’Lal’s original position.

“If Portman’s guys were with it, they’d get the hell out of here and not come charging in like a rescue brigade.” Tralnor was sympathetic to the incoming rangers’ cause. If Portman was willing to ruin a waiter’s life over the wine not showing up fast enough, what would he inflict on these poor bastards?

 _Ko-ka balau_! _Du trasha, katau tevak-tor_! El’i’ki screeched and begged, imploring them to help this person and not change their position. The contradictions were such that it had become almost easy to ignore the Free Soul’s instruction. _She needs you_! _You are leaving, that brings death_!

“Ancient One, we are going to her.” Spock offered an explanation that this blue shimmer didn’t like. “We are taking the circuitous route so we are less likely—”

Metal rending, waves of instantly displaced air and sound, the smell of melted hair and artificial fibers, Tralnor dropped to the ground. His mind, tapped-out, was not accepting visual stimuli in realtime. El’i’ki blew away like a dandelion seed in a typhoon. He thought he saw shuttle remnants, metal, components, organic matter from the people inside fracture and burn. Tostausu shook a fist, claiming victory. . .

Molten sheet metal impacted Tralnor at tornado-force, where it cleaved his chest and splintered his shoulder. Pain at a level that his body almost couldn’t register, he retained the wherewithal to gaze down at his torso and assess the damage done. He touched at his wounds and took his wet fingers away, saw no blood, just water, and as he struggled for comprehension it was the far-off/too-close sound of Spock collapsing into the mud that returned the world to a standard tempo.

“ _Tralnor_ —”

He wheedled around, crawling half a meter upslope, where he saw the real haphazard lacerations on Spock. “Don’t talk.”

One lung seemingly destroyed, the struggle to breathe and the loss of blood had Spock fading fast. “—leave me.”

Blocking out the geyser plain and whatever else might fall from the sky, Tralnor immediately went to applying pressure on the most egregious wound. “You’ve got to stick this out with me, Spock.”

The science officer shook his head to the negative. This wasn’t how he wanted to die, but it didn’t seem like such a bad way to go, cut down whilst on a quest to stop evil. Spock heard Tostausu’s latest declaration: the monster had chosen the hyper-empath’s fate.

Spock mustered a shred of remaining strength, lifted the pistol, and tried to set the muzzle against the side of Tralnor’s head.


	154. Chapter 154

Slick with rain, destabilized by a tremor, Spock fumbled, probably on purpose, but perhaps not. Handgun lost to moss and mud and water, the older man had started to relax. He did not necessarily feel the fragment of shrapnel most closely embedded near his heart, but he had an idea about how every beat, every breath, sent it micrometers nearer to piercing his myocardium. If he did not bleed out, a serrated shred of metal would finish him off.

Tralnor leaned over and put his upper arm and shoulder over Spock’s wounds, thus keeping pressure on the most egregious bleeding. This left one hand free to tug the bottom of his jacket taut to allow for the other to thread into a pocket. Item unseen, Tralnor removed whatever it was from its packaging.

“You can’t block me out forever, Mair-rigolauya! I will sink my mind into yours and we both go on to assume our natural places in the world.”

“You know how you always think that you’re too human, that it’s your greatest weakness in your body and mind?” Tralnor’s face began to fade as Spock’s vision started to grow fuzzy. “How you think your internal anatomy is just off enough from the standard-issue Vulcan that even medically you see yourself as unworthy?”

Jacket zipper partially pulled down, Tralnor tugged a sodden scarf off his neck and dropped it beside them. The something in Tralnor’s hand gave a muted glint. In that instance, Spock utterly despised himself. One moment of weakness and now Tralnor was forced to commit suicide while the Son of Sarek died a coward, ashamed.

Tralnor pitched farther until their foreheads touched. (It’s your human quirkiness that just might save me—)

An electric howl from a mind outside their two-man joining was evidence that the Kennuk was not enough to keep Tralnor from other methods of psionic infiltration. If Tostausu could still not get in directly, he would try to do it by destroying Sha’leyen.

Tears, not misplaced, welled in Tralnor’s eyes, caused by an almost paralyzing fear as induced by historical trauma, the snuffing of thousands of lives, and the sense of foreboding he’d harbored since landing on the planet. Tralnor pressed what Spock recognized as an epinephrine injector to his neck.

Fading, feeling something like a snowflake drifting down on a cold winter’s night, Spock matched up all the pieces. Why did Tralnor have a medical device that should have been in the med bag as put together by Sha’leyen?

(Tralnor, stop!)

(It’s my decision, Spock.) A finger traced around on the plastic housing for the mechanism that would almost instantaneously stab a needle into his carotid artery.

( _No_!) Tralnor’s mind firmly rooted in his, no strength in him to fight, Spock demanded that this stop. (I forbid this. You are not a slave.)

(This is my choice and it’s the choice of a free man.) The injector clicked and slammed a dose of ketro’nistin straight up into Tralnor’s brain.

  
  
  
An object, somewhat large and malleable by the sound it made from impacting the cabin fuselage of No. 742, left a dent where once smooth wall had been. Veddah, thanks to Joe’s assistance, was more put together than even an hour earlier, thought this incident worth investigating.

The pain from his ankle was magnificent, but his re-upped mental fortitude saw him drag himself to the side door, catch a loop on his Aduna’s gurney, and give Mollie the assist she needed to get her patient into the shuttle. A whisper-light graze of his fingers across Laura’s forehead, and he hobbled for the crumpled body lumped against the skid.

Hoskins was barely conscious, more a lump of meat than a person, and was tempting death. Veddah had a choice, try and help the disturbed vet, or let the instigator of so much personal tumult die.

On his good leg, Veddah hopped back a couple of steps.

  
  
  
Joe’s chest, weighted by Spock’s pain as Sarek experienced it, went from feeling like certain death on the horizon to a fraction of the intensity. He didn’t understand what this difference represented, just that the ambassador was no longer suffocating on extracorporeal pain.

Sir? Does this mean—

(Tralnor.)

That one-word answer gave context to the situation. No time to feel so much as a sliver of loss, Joe kept to the tasks and people he could impact.

  
  
  
Ready to haul ass after Jim, McCoy got a startle from Sohja. A sound came from her throat that was more animal-like than something a domesticated Vulcan should make. He knew she’d not want him up in her personal space, but he had to see that she wasn’t gravely injured.

“Get me up.” She gripped McCoy’s arm, planted her other hand on Buffalo Bill’s shoulder, and both tried to push and pull herself to her feet. Her molars ground like tectonic plates dragging along one another.

“Sohja, let the doctor—” Interrupted by Lt. Ryan’s scream, Captain Cody gave her friend a shove and McCoy finished the job and got Sohja to her feet.

“I think he’s dead!” The young woman dug deep and mostly forced the professional manner expected of Starfleet officers. “One of the few times he leaves the ship. . .”

“Lt. Ryan, your ill-begotten Andorian phaser, which is the higher setting?” Sohja unfastened the outer pocket on McCoy’s medkit.

The weapon was smaller than a regulation Starfleet phaser and McCoy thought it was deliberately left behind up at the cave, but Sohja had stowed it. “You’re not thinking of using that.”

“That pile of corpses, you want to be one of them?” Jim couldn’t figure this woman out.

“Wait until Tostausu has me, then Doctor, James, Buffalo Bill, stay to the trees until you’re farther back than the shuttle, cross behind it, go up the hill on the other side.” Sohja took the phaser when Lt. Ryan had it set to the requested parameters. “Ryan, go with them or stay here.”

“You’re taking this sacrifice thing too far.” Kirk felt sad that Sohja was in such a place.

“Three seconds after I start distracting him, run.” 9mm in one hand, phaser in the other, she said, “Fight On, Buffalo Bill.”

“Fight On, Tinkerbell.”

Sohja went full-bore, Jim counted off, and the humans rushed away, hoping there was still enough time to save their friends.

  
  
  
The transcript, as it evolved, was pieced together and overlaid on the main viewer so Pezig’s Gate and Sweetness could be seen. Sarah and Seltun turned out to be efficient and competent at their task, freeing Chris to slide one of the kicker panels off his station and to explore.

Woebegon/Mbele: _I want Mazzi to get his ass on the bridge right now. Don’t give me shit, just do it_.

Sweetness/Dobbs: _And I will repeat myself, that motherfucker ain’t here_.

Woebegon/Mbele: _I did not come all the way out to this hayseed_ —

Sweetness/Dobbs: _If you want him, if you want Captain Hillyard, if you want Morgana you need to take yourself on down dirtside. Planet Fish Fart awaits_.

Sweetness/Unknown Speaker: (muffled)

Sweetness/Welshie: _Have you lost your fucking minds! Just because the Russian Captain is quiet right now doesn’t mean Dragon isn’t_ —

Sweetness/Dobbs: _Shut the fuck up, Welshie_!

Sweetness/Welshie: _It’s Starfleet_ —

[Shuffling noises from Sweetness. Impact into bulkhead.]

Sweetness/Welshie: _I didn’t think you were really going to hit me_!

Woebegone/Mbele: _ENOUGH BULLSHIT_!

Sweetness/Dobbs: _Fuck off, Welshie. Get off the bridge and I won’t have to split your head open_.

[Static/Lag/Indecipherable]

Woebegone/Mbele: [—] _dispatched upon word received from Seb Mazzi, via his information he obtained from his sons_ [—] _Daniel Shelley wan_ [—] _know_ [—] _fuck is going on_ [—] _his Golden Girl_.

Sweetness/Dobbs: [—]- _upid fucker_ [—] _Old Man Maze’s boy is a fucking shitshow_ [—]

Kuznetsov got Cosgriff’s attention. “I am relieved that I’m not the one Mbele is seeking. He is not here for Dragon at all, but that could change.”

Cosgriff started to say something but stopped far short of any words leaving his mouth.

“Let’s hope not, Donnel.” Kuznetsov finished for him.

  
  
  
It felt, to Kirk, like he was ripping his fingernails off in his struggle up the incline where he’d last seen his science officers. Somewhere, the sole peeled off his right boot, making it harder to propel through the chocolate pudding-esque mud. “Spock!”

Was his friend still alive to hear the pained calls? If he could get up this monsoon-riddled slope, what if he only found Dr. Tralnor, Spock having passed on? It was unlikely Trainer would fight back against Jim if in a fit of grief things came to blows. “Spock!”

No more than a meter ahead on this climb, Bones looked over his right shoulder. “That’s it, no more fucking body bags, not if I can help it. Goddamnit, Spock, quit being a hooligan!”

Kirk mentally echoed the doctor’s sentiments, harvested some fleck of untapped energy, and hauled himself a couple more boot-lengths up the mountain. Focused on powering through, a single man, a single goal would be reached. That grind was fractionally delayed when the last thing he thought to worry about swooped bare centimeters from his neck and head. What smart bird would be out flying in this mess?

 _Koshvar! Koshvar_! _Ko-ka balau, fna’punaf-tor hal ko-kan ka vah tau_ —

“Whoa!” Billie swiped at the—well, it wasn’t a bird. “Did you hear that?”

“Why did a blue orb just buzz us?” The determined advance moved another heartbeat closer to Spock. “That didn’t sound like any bird I’ve listened to.”

“It’s squalling about danger and helping some girl.” Billie hooked a hand around an exposed root fought to keep up. She didn’t have the upper body strength that he and Bones did. “ _Shit_! _Jimmy_ —”

“Hold on, I’ll get you.” Kirk was pretty sure that he could catch her free arm and get her going again.

“No!” Billie shook her head and waved him off. “I’m slowing you down.”

“Billie you can’t make it up there on your own.”

“You and McCoy, it’s on you to get them down.”

“Billie!”

She let go of the root and slid down the mountain like any other debris. An eternity passed that was in real-time mere seconds. Jim bit the inside of his mouth, horrified that he’d lost any sight of her, and did the only thing he could and pressed on.

  
  
  
Taking a roundabout way to her confrontation with Tostausu after Sohja’s human compatriots hadn’t properly followed her instructions, they’d made it across the flats, boar-headed, and convinced the ancient psi-shielding medication was enough to trick Bone Shard the Executioner into not attacking them. She hurled her muddy self up the rear ramp of No. 742.

“Hey, Soazh.” Joe busted out part of the passenger reading lamp assembly so some of the inside structure was usable as an IV stand.

“My name is Sohja.” She got her first close look at Laura Hillyard and knew the pirate was more than ill. What beyond some bacterial/viral affliction was unknown to the Companies House Administrator.

With a grin from the producer, he said, “While we can use the extra hands, there are grander designs in store for you.”

T’Lal and Lt. Ryan hauled Dr. Hoskins into the crowded cabin. Joe went to the door and helped Veddah traverse the step up. With the sick and wounded settled, Sohja corralled Sarek and T’Lal into an area where she could touch them both at the same time. She informed them of the plan she’d developed to take on Tostausu and they nodded, comprehension of her proposal complete, and she did one last thing before dashing back out into the rain.

Abashed, internally overcome by everything she meant to him, Joe blinked at her and wished their kiss could have been longer. “You can do this, Sohja.”

The rain didn’t embrace her when she returned to her task.

  
  
  
Bullets that might have startled a normal human, or at least gotten him to loosen up his hold on his captive, had little to no effect. Sha’leyen managed to get her pistol, unload the rounds, grazing Tostausu two, possibly three times, and here she was with this beast’s invisible hands groping her mind and her body.

Dragged along the floor for about half the length of a standard Starfleet shuttle, flopped so her face scraped along in the mire, her captor whipped her off the ground, and dangled her by a leg, making her the prey trapped in a snare. She vomited sinter, mud, and precipitation. Tostausu, if he’d wanted to drown/choke her, failed.

Blood pooling in her head, staring into the eyes of this creature, she resolved to stay calm and not let him extort a rash response from her. He wanted some kind of acknowledgement that she feared him and would do or say anything to protect the hyper-empath.

Sha’leyen spurned Tostausu’s attempt, his thought process tripping on her lack of fear for herself. He’d not encountered this trait in someone who wasn’t suicidal or consumed by idiocy. This wasn’t obstinance on her behalf.

Telekinetic restraints bit into delicate areas on her body, he tried to render her into a case of flailing and tears through physical pain. Hysteria not forthcoming, the bulk of his attention shifted and he stabbed into her brain. A normal Vulcan would have cracked in a couple of minutes to try and head off the vicious rupture of their emotional controls. Her strength was in not fighting, letting her entire mindscape bloom and remain open.

“You hide him from me!” Tostausu needed to pretend all was going according to the previous experiences in his other lives. His own psionic abilities were poorly harnessed by the unconditioned brain of his host, so he’d had to rely on brute strength since joining with Silvio Mazzi. “I will get what I want from you, yon-kafeh. Lyr Saan pretend they’re strong, yet they remain enslaved.”

 _Red Slave_ , probably the most respectful thing the Ancient Golic overlords called their Belonite subjugates, did not stir Sha’leyen’s ire. The pressure inside her head went up the harder Tostausu rummaged through her mind. He croaked out a sound something like victory. . .

Overconfident, he assaulted that place where someone used to be. Dining on the bitter shards of her broken bond, The Executioner shouted his grievance to the sky. The next run at the place he thought Tralnor might be, the Kennuk meld, was completely devoid of the prized mair-rigolauya. If he thought he could jump the chain, going link to link, Sha’leyen-Mollie-Spock-Tralnor, he’d have to effectively dismantle two more exceptionally well-trained telepaths.

Physical torture, sexual exploitation, psychological warfare, the cyclical tide of abuse her husband visited upon her was the training circuit for confronting this man-thing. Vexed, Tostausu sent some of his ferocious blue lightning to force part of her nervous system to simultaneously flashover in brutal pain and wrack her with cold contractions.

Flipped right side up, dangling by her hair, he demanded an explanation for her unorthodox behavior. “My children murdered, my bond destroyed, my body mutilated, what can you visit upon me that my husband has not done already? For me, death is mercy.”


	155. Chapter 155

Returning to consciousness, serenaded by a gurgling cough, Spock still experienced a dramatic level of pain, but he could breathe again. Tralnor had rolled off to the left, blood-shedding from Spock’s old wounds. (I once believed I knew why the Lyr Saan hyper-empaths were hunted down. Concepts and academic discussion are not true comprehension.)

Tralnor blinked and focused on making his left lung inflate and deflate as normally as possible.

Too weak to administer any first aid to Tralnor, Spock thought now that he had a slim chance of surviving this, there was only one thing at his disposal to help this man who was not his cousin. Where gnarled shrapnel was going to be fatal for Spock, utterly destroying his heart, it got Tralnor through the lower lobe of his right lung instead. A pneumothorax was still a serious injury, but the ability to affect a positive outcome was much higher.

Hands clasped again, pooling energy, their fight to stay alive, Spock said, (We breathe, we live.)

No words, just a feeling of agreement from Tralnor.

Then, heard before it was seen, el’i’ki was back. _Ko-kan ka va tu. Dungi-tu ruskarau el’ru_. It kept shouting the same phrase, having set up within centimeters of Spock’s face. Remembering Tralnor’s statement about unwise plans, the fingers on Spock’s right hand strafed the edges of that ball of illuminated cobalt, appreciating the tingle it set down his arm. He didn’t think, just he grabbed hold, giving him and Tralnor up to an all-encompassing blue light.

  
  
  
“Lt. Ryan?” Hoskins woke after he got dosed with a stimulant. Laid out on a cushioned platform, he quickly figured out that someone had hauled him into the shuttle. “You beamed down?”

“One of Captain Hillyard’s booby traps got set off by the USS Dragon and we’re both locked down.” She made him stay on his back and not strain himself. “The only reason I’m here at all is that I need her biometrics and a signature to give Engineer Dobbs and I access to Sweetness’ computer.”

“Classic Laura all the way.” He did a quick self-assessment. His left shoulder screamed at him and an attempt at testing the joint fed him the tell-tale grinding and clicking of a rotator cuff injury. He was in pain, but if he babied the shoulder, he’d still have limited use of the hand. Next, he tried to sit up again and Morgana helped him roll on his right side. There he could see Mollie and her friend situating Veddah in such a way that he could hold the unconscious captain.

There wasn’t a care in Veddah’s world that four other people watched him kiss her forehead and cradle her where she could glean some of the warmth put out by his body. Morgana, unprepared for such behavior dropped her jaw. “She won’t like it when she finds out he’s been handling her.”

“She’ll like it just fine.” Hoskins took this moment of Ryan’s confusion and managed a sitting position.

“Dr. Hoskins—”

“Laura is Veddah’s wife.” He upended his med kit onto the fold-down bed he’d been planted on as to inventory his materials.

“I’d get all the icky-squirmy-eeeews out of your system before she wakes up.” Joe, facing the captain and her slave didn’t look at Morgana so he could wipe down Veddah and Laura’s faces said, “You’re just going to have to hold back on the racist garbage until we all get out of here.”

Mollie, who’d been rifling through a cupboard, brought out the entirety of the shuttle’s remaining first aid supplies. “Henny-Penny, I think you should turn around.”

A soft smile warmed Lt. Ryan’s features, something Hoskins had never witnessed. “I know she’s been so much happier the last couple of months. I wondered what the cause was and could never have invented this outcome. I’ve long thought she had a few crumbs of decency left in her.”

Satisfied with that answer, Joe returned to his ministrations over Laura and Veddah. Mollie dumped her medical haul next to Hoskins’ rather depleted selection. “Let’s get this organized and put it into green and red piles. That way we should avoid any potentially fatal mix-ups.”

Hoskins immediately started picking. He also had a smaller, third collection of things he’d need specifically for Laura. He got a rapid dictation of who was coming to the shuttle, some details of their medical history if she knew. She also suggested that they get therapeutic doses of certain drugs on the ready.

“I think you could probably get some of your biometric data, Lt. Ryan.”

“This thing, because she invented it, makes it so she’s got to be conscious and responsive to unlock our boat.”

“Lieutenant, your soaked jacket is chirruping.” Mollie got the item of clothing out of the pile of muddy and ruinously waterlogged items.

She couldn’t decipher the entire static pop, hissing message, but she got the most important plot points: Pezig’s was growing hostile toward the two stalled, silent ships, and Mbele had come to town with MV Woebegon. “This is not good news. Mbele's an impulsive black/white thinker and he’ll decapitate you just to watch you bleed.”

  
  
  
The distance between the ground and Sha’leyen’s boots increased. Tostausu did not accept her claim of death being one with mercy and was taking them both into the air to levitate above the geyser plain. Her scalp hurt, sharp wedges of energy pried into her sacroiliac joints, and her kneecaps were displaced from the groove where they ran in the track of the distal femur to proximal tibia.

She was an expert at taking a brutal beating and remaining silent and detached. He wanted her to be afraid of heights, to get a plea from her as he threatened to let go and see if she could fly. He’d take any emotional reaction from her as a win.

He freed her from his telekinetic grip. Facedown like a BASE jumper, gravity and the swift change of elevation made her stomach lurch, but not so much that she’d throw up the sodden ground-cover holding fast in her digestive tract. This tease was to Sha’leyen’s advantage. Caught by an invisible ribbon of energy and throttled for not playing along, she’d seen three people leave No. 742.

The stare-down continued, him frustrated and threatening, her assuming the mantle of rag-doll rather than a frightened woman. Ripping her clothes, the Silvio body bit her breasts, Tostausu’s non-corporeal fangs tore into the remains of her reproductive tract. A very human “What the Fuck?” came from the Vohr’s mouth and the assault abruptly ended.

Both personalities were off-put by Sha’leyen’s mental and physical condition. 

“I am not merciful.” Tostausu said, but now he didn’t know what to do to her and he wasn’t going to let her have her way. “ _I am not merciful_.”

  
  
  
The Andorian phaser was made from such composite materials that it was nearly weightless in Sohja’s hand. Her 9mm felt more protective because of its heft even though such a conclusion was borne of fear rather than logic. She wouldn’t let Sha’leyen’s ordeal divert her attention from The Spare’s mission. Cruel as it might sound, Tostausu’s drive to terrorize his prey was an element Sohja would capitalize on. A split second’s thought on which weapon was in her dominant hand, she arranged her guns, skirted along the edge of the tree line, and waited for her break.

  
  
  
_I don’t recall who sang the song  
but I recall a story that I heard  
and as I look down on this city  
I remember each and every word  
The singer sang about a jealous cowboy  
and how he used a gun  
to kill another cowboy  
then he had to leave El Paso on the run_

Conscious, or so he thought, Spock, came round to the memory of a song that was unfamiliar to him. Some shard of his battered mind wanted to know if this thing he heard played in real time, or if it was a trace of the near future. Sussing out the words, the tune, nothing about it marked it as something he’d heard before. He tried to ask Tralnor about the music but found the hyper-empath was passed out.

In addition to the song, he had to ask where did the rain go? Once that question entered his mind, his battered synapses provided enough information that he knew they’d escaped the slope that would become their morgue, at least their minds had.

_El Paso City  
by the Rio Grande  
the cowboy lived and rode away  
but love was strong  
he couldn’t stay  
he rode back just in time to die  
in that El Paso sand  
I try not to let you cross my mind but still I find  
there’s such a mystery in a song  
that I don’t understand_

He didn’t think he was anywhere in the strain of reality he’d occupied in life, rather he and Tralnor had slipped into some other space. Not dark or light, not cold or wet, there was very little Spock could explain. He checked on Tralnor, and unable to determine his physical condition, viewed into a mind that was not at rest.

. . . _you cannot stay here. . . as this is not the realm of mortal men. . . but I must say that I praise you. . . helping the girl like you_. . .

  
  
  
“Hey, Doc, what do you have in your bag of party favors that’s going to help a Vulcan with a bad heart?” Joe checked that his boots were done up tight.

“What do you mean by bad heart? You just got done saying that Ambassador Sarek was stable because he was tied to you.” It didn’t seem like Hoskins was intimidated by this request. “He’s beginning to overwhelm you?”

Joe held up a finger, telling Hoskins to give him a second, and breathed as deep and even as he could. He doled out the short explanation and Hoskins furrowed his brow. “I’m a walking, squawking, living pacemaker, not exactly purpose-built for this task.”

“Mollie, is that a working medical tricorder?” Hoskins said about one of the last things she brought out to have on the ready.

“I think this is the one Sha’leyen uses on crime scenes. I can’t find the other we brought with us” Mollie handed it off to the doctor. “I have no idea what the presets are going to be.”

The center of his chest juttered, throwing out rhythms and electrical activity Sarek couldn’t handle alone. “And if you don’t have anything for him that we don’t have to give him right now, can you give something to me?”

“We’re going to see what we can find, Joe. Until then, try doing a full set of Ohkuh Ba’tanlar.” Mollie went back to that closet and began tossing stuff out of it. Anything that wasn’t the missing tricorder was not bothered with.

Joe agreed with her suggestion and started on the Eight Counts sequence to help him keep both an internal and external tempo that he’d use as an aid to ward off his own subconsciously induced elevations in blood pressure and heart rate.

  
  
  
Almost standing directly beneath Tostausu, Sohja aimed at his belly and lined up her shot. Lt. Ryan warned that the Andorian weapon kicked. Taking that description into account, she pulled the trigger. Slammed into the ground, struggling to get air back into her winded lungs, she felt her eardrums verge on bursting when the creature shrieked in surprise. Sohja abandoned her struggle to stand and fired again.

(— _only making it stronger_! _Fuck off out of here_!) Sha’leyen, still dangling many meters above, tried to ward Sonja off. (Cease fire! Cease fire!)

 _This is the only chance we have of destroying Bone Shard, the only chance we have of saving you, Lt. Commander_. That thought flew across Sohja’s mind a micro-second faster than Tostausu snatched her up from the mire. Her plan was working.

“Traitor filth!” He wasn’t chucking Sha’leyen yet, but Tostausu brayed his disgust at Sohja. “Golic warriors do not take up arms on the side of the slaves.”

Sha’leyen tried to ask what the hell was going on, but Sohja did well to block her out. “I do not answer to you, Warlord. Your kind has not earned my loyalty or my blade.”

“Vulcan denies you!” Tostausu hauled off on a violent throttle, whipping Sohja about, a show of force designed to set off her lower brain and elicit fear. Where Sha’leyen had nothing left to be afraid of, was an enigma to the Vohr, and was most likely to die as a byproduct of the monster’s frustrations, Sohja would give him some of the rewards he wanted while keeping to her mission.

Her head threatened to twist and tumble off her neck. One particularly hard thrash, Sohja let off a couple of stray shots, concentrated pops of energy strafed the man-thing never properly hitting him. Rebound saw her let go of the phaser and it splashed down meters away.

“They are our _possessions_ , not our _friends_. Say farewell to the Red Slave!”

  
  
  
_Pop-pop_ —

Jim refused to answer his curiosity. There was no looking and taking other peoples’ misery into account. He felt like less than a captain knowing that one of his officers was being tortured right now. That he had no power to change that, that he was forced to ignore Sha’leyen, he would let it eat at him later.

“Jim!” Bones got a mitt around a lump of Kirk’s clothing and hauled his captain the last meter or two.

Rain and weird light didn’t lessen the emerald slaughter. _So much blood, so much blood, so much fucking blood_! “Spock!”

Stumbling and diving toward his dead/comatose/lost friend, Jim croaked at the Vulcan and demanded that McCoy do something. Bones’ response beaded and rolled off Kirk’s back. “Spock!”

Panic-inflamed and aggrieved by his clutch of regrets, Jim pressed his ear against his beloved’s chest and heard—

 _I am not merciful_!

“Please wake up, Spock.” The decibels put out by Tostausu kept Jim’s ears from picking out any sound coming from his friend’s body. “Please. . .”

 _I.Am.Not.Merciful_.

  
  
  
  


El Paso City, written by Marty Robbins, 1972


	156. Chapter 156

Not thinking, only wishing to demonstrate the love he carried for this man, Kirk sneaked a kiss, muddy lips on muddy lips. “We’ve got to get him down.”

“Not so fast, Jim.” McCoy would temper unreal ideas of expediency. “We need to figure out a way of getting them down together. Look.”

Spock had a tight grip on Dr. Tralnor’s right hand. “If we move quickly—”

“Spock is the only thing that’s keeping Tralnor breathing. I think the good doctor played his trump card.” Tricorder readings done, Bones was the kind of serious that physicians and police officers employed when delivering a death notification. “If we don’t break their meld and we haul them off the mountain and transport or fly our asses off to Dragon immediately, I think we’ve got them both.”

He wasn’t going to get into Dragon’s transporter issues. Finally, he broke his focus on Spock and that’s when Kirk became aware of the debris from the exploded shuttle. “They were caught up in this?”

“They both have the exact same pattern of injuries. Spock’s are pretty much healed. Dr. Tralnor’s aren’t.” McCoy glanced about for something he could use in a medical sort of way. “But, I think I’ve got a solution the getting us all down to the No. 742 problem.”

Jim felt like the hind tit, only good for suckling failures. Not worried about getting his wet clothes wetter, he sat directly on the ground and looked over the injured men.

No elaboration, the CMO said, “Stay here, stay calm, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“I won’t leave without him, Bones.” Spock’s empty right hand affixed between Jim’s cold hooks, he wanted to offer comfort but peddled only chaos.

  
  
  
“Try not to panic.” Hoskins said while waving the tricorder probe around Joe’s body.

A sharp intake of breath and Joe said, “He’s not panicking and I’m not panicking. If Sarek flips a switch, I’m screwed. We’ll both be good so long as he holds fast and you don’t let me see what Sohja is doing.”

Mollie stood so she could see what the machine said and compare that data with what she knew. Joe started on the next Eight Count and mid-sentence, his jaw clacked shut. Sweat beading, he began to blackout. She didn’t need to point his condition out to the doctor.

“We’re going to try 6mg Regicor and see if this can’t slow things down a little.” Hoskins dialed in the medication and had Mollie administer it while taking tricorder readings.

Tostausu bellowed about mercy and Joe’s second-hand symptoms tapered off. A deep, measured breath and the human jumped gears and asked where he’d be the most helpful. “No, I’m not sitting this out, Mollie.”

  
  
  
“Bones, do you hear that?” Kirk was immediate to assume that he was so far beyond breaking point that he was actively hallucinating. How and why was there the distinctive ring of mariachi notes? “Bones?”

“I do not know if Dr. McCoy hears it, Jim.” _That voice_! “I do not know if you can hear me.”

“He wears The Mask.” Disembodied, not Spock said. “I bring him to you, the only way for your minds to touch until the drug fades and the mair-rigolauya’s ramparts are struck.”

“Spock?” Grey-aqua absence reacted to some kind of stimuli or dash of ingredients stirred into its formula. Sun, clear skies, tall grass, and snow-dusted mountains in the distance, he knew the world hadn’t stopped and set him down in Wyoming. Yet, here he was, grazing bison on the far banks of the river he was just noticing, and the sound of rain written over with a rustling. “Spock?”

“El’i’ki, this is the man with the eyes like quaking aspen trees.” Spock remained absent. Therefore, Kirk would follow the direction of his first officer’s words.

His face did not capture the warmth of the afternoon sun, his skin not registering the environmental change of any of this fantastical place. White bark riddled with random dark spots clad not-too-terribly tall leafy trees. Coin-shaped, breeze-tossed, it was these very leaves, their flickering dance, that displaced dark clouds and dropping precipitation.

“Eyes like Aspen, he is here to help or obscure?”

A puff of cornflower-tinged light shimmered some thirty centimeters from Jim’s face. He swore it was examining him, possibly testing his mettle.

“Ancient One, he is here to help.” The sparkling ball dissolved and revealed Spock. “That is correct, Jim?”

“Help, I want to help.” Kirk lingered on the sight of his polished, clean, and smartly dressed Vulcan. A rapid briefing on the extra-corporeal being asking after Jim’s intentions led him to yet another strange-as-hell thing from Spock’s homeworld.

“First, mending The Bridge.” El’i’ki snapped itself out of the way and let the Starfleet men go to Tralnor.

Where Spock was elegantly clad in the Golic style appropriate for a man of his social standing, Tralnor remained passed out, still in his dirt-stained, blood-soaked, black fatigues. Three months ago, when the music teacher first arrived on the Enterprise, Kirk had wondered, even in his absolute confidence in Spock’s staffing choices, what the hell someone like Dr. Tralnor was doing on a ship of the line. What they’d seen at Melbek III was but a single attribute of Tralnor’s genetic lineage. This was clearly why Tralnor’s kind were so zealously hunted.

“He’s dying.” Jim found his response a lame one. Clearing his throat, he said, “Bones made it sound like you two might be okay. You’re holding hands on the outside.”

“Even together, Tralnor and I are so far gone we lack the combined strength to be the catalyst El’i’ki requires.” Squatting down, Spock picked a wad of vegetation off Tralnor’s face. On a slightly tangential topic he said, “Since the days when we were little boys, he was always fighting to convince me that I was not weak, that I cannot give up. . .”

Certain he’d not feel the heat radiating from Spock’s body, Jim took initiative and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He sensed the bedrock-level exhaustion of these men and hit back with his own dismay. “I need for Dr. Tralnor and me to keep you from coming down on yourself. I’ve been petty—Cutting you down is the last thing I wanted and because I was more worried about what my dick might find if I ever bedded you, I flayed you. Tralnor told me that I was tearing you apart.”

Silence rather than a response was a kindness on Spock’s behalf.

“Whatever it is you need, tell me, I’ll make it happen.” Kirk bent at the knees and got on the same level with Spock. His beloved’s face wasn’t hiding his fear at the very real prospect of losing Tralnor. The captain’s only partially-jumbled mind tossed up Sohja’s husband saying that if she needed Joe, he needed the movie man too. _I want the responsibility of being a good friend. I want to stand with the integrity I know I have, that I’ve not abandoned, and be the best commander for you and everyone else under my watch. I want to honor you as a partner, hopefully as your spouse. I want. . ._

The captain didn’t know if his words or thoughts were heard. This was not the space for a communications breakdown. He tried to directly project his follow-up into his beloved’s mind. Spock needed Tralnor. Spock needed Mollie, and as such James T. Kirk required the brother and sister remain active in his Vulcan’s life. “Let’s put this, put us, back together.”

This kiss, while just as fleeting as the previous out in the rain and mud, had a mental heft to it that Jim had not once felt before. Spock was left with a tilt to his head indicating this was as good as what had come before. Did he know more, feel more on the outside than devastating wounds and a coma suggested?

Spock left the pleasant loft of memory. “Ancient One, your instructions, please.”

  
  
  
_I am not merciful_.

Buffalo Bill Cody came to, the first impression was that she’d disengaged from a nightmare. Seeing that she wasn’t at home, in her stateroom aboard Wild West Show, or dead, she hated to think the words: Pezig’s Gate.

Fingers grasping, toes wiggled, the aroma of sulfur and wet earth, she accepted musculoskeletal pain as inspiration and started to claw her way out of the pile of shit that helped deliver her to the foot of the slope. Almost home-free, she tried to lift her right leg that had felt as fine-ish as the rest of her. Just missing her femoral artery, a three-and-a-half centimeter in diameter branch impaled her thigh.

No. 742 teased, close enough to see light and people through the front windscreen, Buffalo Bill could not throw in the towel now. Slick, cold-numbed hands made it difficult to feel around the underside of her injury. She hoped her fingers would sense that this branch had at least partially snapped because she wasn’t getting out of this avalanche pile without help otherwise.

Treated to a view of her two favorite Vulcan ops sneaking in on the flying man-thing, she was given to believe that escaping this haunted backcountry was a slim possibility. Then, she witnessed another figure taking a more direct route to the monster’s position. “Oh, shit. Sohja, what are you doing?”

  
  
  
The wild swinging and flopping of Tostausu’s captives were the continued expression of his anger and frustration. Defiance and subversion touched a raw nerve. Where the Pezig’s Gate government employees shot and swore and tried to take him down in ways that hadn’t worked from the beginning, he took from them the pleasure of mowing them down, blowing them up, and forcing a horror-enrobed death.

He spouted off a garbled mouthful of syllables that said more about his need to control the scene than if he’d used words. It was when imitating a child playing with his toys, Tostausu slammed the women together. When crushing them chest-to-chest rewarded him with nothing, he swore, then his speech pattern changed.

“Come out and fight me like a man, Greenie! Let’s see how far you get against me now you mind-fucking crybaby. Laura’s not leaving here with you.”

  
  
  
Bites and scratches, new blood coming up through old scars, Sha’leyen wished Bone Shard would quit this delay of the inevitable. Violent dismissal from the living world was her comeuppance for behaving like a silly child. She’d dared to let herself grow some hope since reuniting with Tralnor, even carrying the ridiculous notion that post-Pezig’s Gate, he’d go back to the Enterprise with her. It didn’t matter how it happened, Spock pulling the trigger or Tralnor committing suicide, the mair-rigolauya was dead. Should Tostausu find and exploit her former bondmate, everyone here was dead as well.

Sha’leyen’s internalized mourning for Tralnor was thrown off track. Sohja had arrived, naively acting like she could save the day. The bioarchaeologist tried to ward off the Companies House Administrator. Sohja refused to listen, was impervious to Sha’leyen pulling rank, and kept nailing Tostausu with some kind of phaser.

He was getting from Sohja what was absent in Sha’leyen. The Vulcan acknowledged her physical pain, the depth of her fear, and from one Golic warrior to another, she’d told him to fuck off. This carnival ride lacked an accessible exit mechanism meaning Sha’leyen wasn’t allowed to step away and let Sohja take her place.

When Tostausu decided against frying Sohja on the spot, neither woman was prepared for crashing together. Three of Sha’leyen’s dental implants, replacements of the teeth her husband had punched down her throat, broke off at the gum-line, leaving said prosthetics and a bleeding gash on Sohja’s scalp. Held together like the filling of some macabre sandwich, an opportunity presented, a 9mm was pressed into Sha’leyen’s right hand. That exchange on the side facing away meant he didn’t witness the transfer.

Wrenched apart, Tostausu resumed his screaming, only what came out of his mouth was straight from Silvio Mazzi. This outburst debunked Sha’leyen’s educated guess that becoming the Vohr obliterated the person in the host body. Laura’s crewman and the warmonger had done a poor job merging. This resultant conflict between the personalities was growing. Silvio wanted to kill Veddah, fuck Laura while strangling her to death in the process, and be done with it all. The human supremacist was accepting of the fatal outcome of this battle. Tostausu fought Silvio, Bone Shard the Executioner was going back to Vulcan and ramrodding his way to becoming a dictatorial emperor.

  
  
  
It was Mollie who asked what Morgana had done aboard MV Sweetness. She must have liked the answer because Joe was shuffled up into the cockpit to help get No. 742 through the checklists and ready to fire up. “I’m guessing that you’re still pretty new to this?”

“Lt. Ryan, I haven’t had my damned license for even a month. Mollie and I didn’t have enough time to get passenger endorsements either.” Joe looked at everything he touched.

“Really new then.” Morgana said as she reached over and punched a button he’d missed. “Don’t sweat it. You helped get this thing down here. You’re going to be fine.”

“So new I’ve still got the new car smell.” An exchange of grins and they’d have the shuttle ready to spring to attention with the push of a button.

Morgana peeked at Hoskins and silently wished him well.

  
  
  
“Laura!” Tostausu raged. “Make this right!”

Mollie peeled the antiemetic patches off Laura’s neck and continued to clean up areas of skin that might be needed for Hoskins to give meds. With what little help Veddah could give, the pirate captain was stripped to nothing, dried off, and an inventory of Laura’s external manifestations of illness began.

“Shetau shakhupik k’nash sasu.” Veddah spoke into Laura’s ear.

“Anything I should know?” Hoskins did not want to miss the slightest bit of information that might save Laura.

“He’s saying that she should grow old with him.” A fresh strip of nausea drugs liberated from their packaging, Mollie affixed the new adhesive discs to Laura.

“You’re a spineless coward, fuck doll!”

Salty-faced, Veddah said, “I will not let him at her.”

A membraneous thump rattled the shuttle and the viscera of those inside. Less than a sonic boom, more than wind-sheer, displaced air made the world shake again in congress with the pained caterwauling from the host.

“Du makau ahn’vhar na’nemut!” The monster’s intonation and attitude swung for the warlord’s use. “Du katau mesh fi-tor lo’uk maat.”

“He’s telling Sohja that she’s whoring herself out to the Enemy while bringing shame onto a Great Clan.” More overwrought carrying on about filleting Veddah’s penis blubbered into additional threats against Sohja. Tostausu was going to dangle her by her entrails, keeping her alive barely long enough to visit in execrable pain on her. He lamented her loss as an ally and as the appropriate host body to free him from the planet. He’d let Silvio do his thing then move to a stable candidate.

“Call me canny, but I have the notion that this Bone Shard isn’t interested in another human shell.” Hoskins, done with his patients for the immediate moment helped Mollie cover them with additional dry blankets. “Who the fuck does that leave him?”

  
  
  
The secreted firearm set off a question in Sha’leyen. Her best-laid plan should she find herself in a losing scenario was to fill the Vohr’s face with the aerosolized ketro’nistin. She’d not made much of various things that had gotten shuffled around in the med bags since touchdown near the Administrative Center. A missing epinephrine injector by itself was not a concern. She’d been so occupied with Laura and getting everyone she could dosed with lumein that she only knew someone had made off with selected drugs.

If she’d not believed that Tralnor was already gone, she bore that reality now.


	157. Chapter 157

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After spending the better part of my day fighting customer service about taking back the defective deep freeze I ordered, I am so damned happy to get this chapter out to all of you. Thanks for being the high point in an otherwise very irritating day.
> 
>   
>    
>    
> 

Spock had dreaded this moment of reunification with his captain. To his amazement, he was met by a vastly different man than the unbalanced and possessive commanding officer he’d last seen in the Enterprise’s shuttle bay. Warmth was replacing the vicious and petty resentfulness that had encapsulated Kirk’s soul. This man condoned deference and honor, displacing the vengeful thought patterns that promised his career and his standing with the most important person in his life would incinerate. He’d saved his entire world from morphing into ash and bone.

It was el’i’ki that granted Spock the third-party, impartial analysis of Kirk’s modified outlook on Spock’s relationship history. He thoroughly assessed these changes, determining that the Jim he knew, the one he’d fallen so deeply in love with was on the way back. An uplifting expression of adoration and integrity showed the captain was ready to make things happen, and he had a clear path to get there. Hard work ahead on the human’s behalf, he was going to rebuild, improve, and study to make that happen.

Hands firmly held, Spock knelt where he and Jim could take Tralnor’s extremities, creating the energy boost el’i’ki talked about. Tralnor’s mind was still rending itself and assimilating Spock’s physical damage. Tucked into that mitigation process, Kirk witnessed and experienced the thoughts and feelings of someone who, no matter the circumstances, would do whatever he could for his not-quite-cousin. Tralnor gave love, respect, and tried to instill self-worth in Spock. No clauses hidden in fine print, no stipulations about previous relationships, no. . .

“I can’t make any promises, but he’s not succumbing to this, not if I’ve got anything to say about it.” _Please believe me, Spock_.

  
  
  
Avoiding the smaller bits of contorted metal, purposely ignoring the scattered human body parts, McCoy thought he’d found what he needed. He’d get this fuselage toboggan for two dragged over to his patients. Between him and the captain, they’d guide their injured friends down the slope before converting the sled into a travois. They were getting on that shuttle.

He hated crashes and other disasters of this magnitude because horrifying things had a way of cropping up. Lift some kind of cross-support off his claimed sheet metal and what clobbered him in the neck and shoulder: about two-thirds of a human hand. He flung it off, told himself there was nothing he could do about these chummed law enforcement officers, and dragged his prize away.

“Well, shit.” McCoy noted that Jim had only sort-of listened to the doctor’s orders. He was sat down, unmoved, but he’d gotten in on the fun with the Vulcans. Now, it was imperative to have a functioning tricorder. His machine hadn’t worked when they were all on the other side of the geyser plain. Who was hurt and the degree of injury determined how Spock and Tralnor were moved and when. “Fingers crossed that I get lucky.”

  
  
  
“Hey, Mollie, your guy just took off, popped the escape on the co-pilot’s side window.” Lt. Ryan poked her head into the passenger cabin. “And he’s running straight for this mess.”

She didn’t act surprised, wasn’t surprised, this was true Joe Bergman behavior. Said aloud and whispered into Bergman’s head, “Henny-Penny, her death will not be your fault.”

“He won’t let himself off the hook.” Dr. Hoskins said. “I know the feeling.”

“Are you going after him?” Morgana twitched like she might just haul ass and try to intercept Bergman.

“I shouldn’t.” Mollie had a hard time admitting that.

“He doesn’t think he can take down that abomination, does he?” Morgana emerged from the cockpit to get a better view of Joe’s demise. “That’s a deathwish.”

Hoskins made a sound suggesting that he disagreed with his crewmate. “No, Lt. Ryan, he wants to take his girlfriend’s place.”

Veddah didn’t look up when he said, “Mr. Bergman is acting true to his station as Sohja’s t’hy’la. He knew the likelihood of survival was not high before exiting the shuttle.”

“Okay? _T’hy’la_ , I’ve never heard that one before.” Morgana inched to her right wherein she set a hand on Hoskins’ uninjured shoulder. “But I take your word for it that he understands what he’s doing?”

Her crewmate tensed up, muscles and sinew corrugating into twisted-wire cables beneath her fingers. Hoskins was likely setting out all of the reasons why he should be the person hoofing it out into the rain. “I believe that he understands all too well, Lt. Ryan.”

“He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Sohja.” Mollie looked like she could have said much more on the topic but chose to consciously detach her focus from her friend and transfer it to Laura and Veddah.

  
  
  
“ _No, no, no, no, no, no_!” Comprehending he was of no use to the medical people, Veddah was psychically stabilized, and that Morgana was a pro at the controls of a ship, he knew he wasn’t abdicating an important duty there on No. 742. He’d kept Sarek going and it was modern science, the drugs Hoskins had administered to Joe, that was the real star of this particular meld. This meant no matter how worked-up or terrified he got, his human heart was temporarily governed to not explode under the stress. The diplomat’s chances of emerging with the same partially-busted ticker, no additional damage inflicted, were good.

If Joe was a sane man, he’d not be racing into conflict against an enemy he’d seen turn other men into flame-broiled kebabs. This, like the prophylactic cardiac drugs, was his way of helping the cranky old man pull through. An eerie niggle poked at Joe, the pulp in his teeth twinging more now than at any point since touching down. He needed to help Sohja because if he didn’t, Sarek would make that a main concern wherein he and his new student would die a by-product or as a direct result of this demon’s rampage. Where Tostausu was not particularly concerned by or interested in humans, killing them in the methods seen in cult-horror films was more a fun diversion than a necessity, Joe wanted for Sohja’s commitment in their t’hy’la bond to become Bone Shard’s next bewitchment. The old autocratic rex needed substance, not the short-lived satisfaction of shooting fish in a barrel.

He picked a new song to carry him through the rain and gore-matted ground separating him from the woman he loved more than life itself.

“ _From thirty-thousand-feet above, I see it down below_. . .”

  
  
  
“Mollie, I’m ready with the meds you need in case your friend gets fucked up and can’t sustain the meld with your—Well, whatever he is to you, uncle, godfather. . .How quickly can you get Sarek back here?” Hoskins had created a fourth set of medical supplies. He’d try his absolute fucking hardest to keep everyone alive.

“That’s going to depend on how stubborn he is and I’m not the best mule skinner.” She stared after Joe as he waved his arms and made a general nuisance of himself.

“So long as you can deliver it to a mucus membrane, your diplomat friend will get some benefit. It would be best if you could get a full dose shot up his nose, but there’s no sense in getting picky.”

Veddah didn’t lift his head off Laura’s when he asked if Mollie was taking over Joe’s meld with Sarek. He’d not anticipated a negative response. “What becomes of Mr. Bergman and the Ambassador? I am curious as to the mechanics of your reported inability to assume the meld.”

“Let’s not go there, kid.” The vet put out the most hopeful vibe he could muster.

“They’ll probably both die.” Mollie said.

Hoskins pelted her with a mental vote of no confidence. “You’re a psion, isn’t it possible—”

“It’s not about me. It’s about his son, and he doesn’t want to hurt Spock.” She waved off Hoskins’ immediate follow-up. “I can’t get into it any more than that.”

He didn't have to like her answer, but he respected it. “Godspeed, My Dear.”

  
  
  
Moving at a brisk pace for someone trundling through ankle-deep mud, Joe had to crane his head to even see this monster. He came to something approximating a parade rest, holding his position until Tostausu and the girls knew he’d stepped below them.

Sohja set the blood vessels in his brain to frazzle, her fear and love for him knifed his soul. In that all-encompassing concern was a streak of embarrassment on her behalf that he was forced to see her so close to the verge of beaten and broken. Lacking the ability to mount a pushback against her where he might settle some of her worries, he leaned into the old cowboy song, layering each level of his conscious thinking and awareness with the consistent tempo and key, the structural underpinnings of the music were mathematical artifacts. The story in the lyrics, a man dropping in on a ghost story about love, murder, and vigilante justice shared enough similarity with this ancient deathscape that the two complimented one another in a morbid kind of way.

“Joe!” Sohja belted into the storm clouds. “Do not do this! You cannot save me!”

She tried to psychically wedge herself into his mind, forcing him to hear her pleas. It pained him to ignore her as her desperation grew. Even if he couldn’t save her, he would go down knowing that he’d tried. He focused on the song, a strategy that nearly cut Sohja off entirely.

Settled on a patch of mud where he knew Tostausu could see him, Joe initiated his campaign for getting this asshole to notice him. An unnamed tension dug its spindly fingers into his mental awareness which was no small feat for a psionic deaf-mute.

His ears, his mind, picked up the sound of hard rim-shots, the noise descending from spare meters above. One of the girls had taken some wild chance to shoot at Bone Shard. Joe was informed that Sha’leyen was the risk-taker at that moment as the undead warlord cursed the cranberry-haired scientist.

“Red Slave, your staunch refusal to deliver the Mair-rigolauya has rendered you useless to me. I should drag a blade across your throat. However, I will not indulge your fantasy.” The beast shed altitude until he was at a height he could use Sha’leyen like a skipping stone and bounce her one-hundred-plus meters across the sodden ground.

Joe thought he saw evidence that one of Sha’leyen’s bullets grazed Tostausu, a dark stream of something ran down Silvio’s right side. Given realization, Joe cursed human anatomy. If the body hosting the demon had been Vulcan, the Lt. Commander could have killed him, saving everyone from the grief to come.

Now that Bone Shard could exclusively focus on hazing Sohja, Joe’s real challenge could begin.

  
  
  
_My mind is down there somewhere  
as I fly above the badlands of New Mexico  
I can’t explain why I know the very trail  
He rode back to El Paso  
Can it be that a man can disappear from life  
and live in another time  
and does that mystery deepen ‘cause  
you think that you yourself lived in that other time_

The music from the heavens hit Buffalo Bill in such a way that her response was to smile, even though she knew these lyrics and about the psychic resonance of previous tragedy, this song pumped her resolve. No. 742 was her El Paso. She might die trying, but nothing was going to keep her away from that shuttle.

That retrofitted executive-hauler would get her up that mountain so Jimmy and McCoy could load up Spock and Tralnor. Her resolve gained momentum. She thought of Jimmy’s comments earlier and his nose-thumbing disregard for the unmitigable.

No one, no entity, no bureaucratic jingoism stood a chance against Buffalo Bill Cody.

“ _El Paso City_!” She raucously hollered/sang along to the ghost-story-cowboy-song flowing into her head. “ _By the Rio Grande_!”

  
  
  
She’d known he’d try something stupid, so when Joe escaped the shuttle and the friends keeping watch over him, it was not a surprise. _Now is not the time to be brave, Joe_! _Leave so you may live to fight on._

Sohja thought she’d placed her message into the audio center of his brain, which was the best spot in that particular human to layer communication. She begged for him to listen and turn around. This caught Tostausu’s malignant attention.

“You continue to disappoint me, fighting for slaves, bonding with one. You need re-education on what it means to be Golic! We are strong, we are brave, we are resourceful—”

Sohja looked for an indication that the bullets that hit Tostausu had slowed him down.

“—You have employed this weak, pathetic creature as your T’hy’la! You’re worse than the Red Slave. Her transgressions are not uncommon for those of inferior Belonite blood. You, Warrior, shall be punished. Flagrant comingling with those who exist only to serve us exemplifies your defects. This cannot be allowed to continue. Therefore, your inferior shield brother shall die for you.”

When she didn’t see any red burbling from projectile trauma she didn’t get so much as blink wherein to give a second assessment. A wild-eyed confidence in his convictions, Tostausu thought he’d tilted the match toward his side.

He’d scented something delectable and drifted down from his invisible perch. Sohja watched disaster enacted meters below her feet. Skimming the ground, Bone Shard moved with the smoothness of a hovercraft on a river. 

“ _Joe_. . .” She was helpless as Tostausu pulled up mere centimeters from Bergman’s face.

“Golic One, perhaps you have not disappointed me after all. Rather, you have demonstrated your resourcefulness.” Evaluating Joe in the manner of a livestock auctioneer, Tostausu showed a disturbing level of jubilance. “A Klai’saul-tor, even in this sad human packaging, is a rich asset that I cannot ignore.”


	158. Chapter 158

Skinwalker on approach, Joe continued to use music to anchor his focus. His initial plan was to offer himself in exchange for Sohja. He was uncertain this would work, but it was a place to start by using a non-violent approach. He wasn’t much of a fighter and while he might get in one or two mediocre hits on Tostausu, Joe wouldn’t last long.

The corpse of Silvio Mazzi glided along like the finest special effect from a horror film.

Klai’saul-tor.

Joe tried to find the term in his extensive knowledge of Modern Golic. The best he could do was translate this new label as “big-maker” and relating what it actually meant was lost to his inability to navigate Ancient Golic. This language barrier, he’d work on it when he started on the Tago t’Shochya, assuming he remained alive enough to escape on No. 742.

He was met with dismay when Bone Shard appeared, his human body wearing traces of the gunshots that would have taken down a Vulcan. Sha’leyen had tried and failed in differentiating Silvio’s banged-up carcass from the original anatomy Tostausu was born with.

“Weapons on the ground.” Bone Shard directed.

“I don’t have any.”

“Do not lie to me. Sul’ahrilar are fragile and I would not want to demonstrate that fact unless I have to.”

“I’m subvulcan?” Joe shed his jacket, showing off his wrists, ankles, and belt-line. He’d purposely left any weapons in No. 742. “Okay, fair enough, seeing as I’m not Vulcan.”

Moved off-center, personalities blurred then sort-of separated, Tostausu yanked from the prominent position, Silvio broke through. “You’re banging a green-blooded whore. What the fuck is wrong with you? You should know better.”

There wasn’t much Joe could say about that. It wasn’t worth his time to correct a dead man. “I can’t help that I like what I like.”

“She could be such a thing of ferocious beauty if not for the weakness in her constitution.” Tostausu said. “Her fondness for her slaves is a vein of corruption that is treatable. However, I should thank her for bringing you to me.”

“Klai’saul-tor, ri fai-tor mesprhan.” Joe simply stated that he didn’t know what Tostausu had called him. This set off an unrestrained reaction from Mazzi. He’d tried to duck, took Silvio’s fist to the side of his skull instead of his face, and found himself prone and sputtering in the mud.

“Fucking pervert. No piece of pussy is worth compromising your life or abandoning humanity.” After issuing a snort, keeping Tostausu in check for the immediate moment, Silvio broadcast accusations of immorality on Joe’s behalf.

Standing once more, Joe engaged. “If being with her is an act of such perversion that you think I’d be better off dead, you’ve never met Sohja. She’s a loyal friend, my shield brother, and someone who’s never let me down.”

Silvio lost control of the puppet strings again, Tostausu cutting him off in the middle of a word. “A modern version of the Vulcan language tenable by the human tongue?”

The warlord took up the seat of consciousness. Joe confirmed it and asked again, what did klai’saul-tor mean. This was the first time he’d ever heard of a person with the title of Shout Factor, and he still didn’t know what it was.

  
  
  
“The one in here with me, he and I have come to a matching opinion about you.” Tostausu was so close as to touch Joe’s face. Chin held, a thumb cast along his lips, the monster’s borrowed eyes envisioned his new human folly as even less of a person than a man-sized masturbation sleeve.

Sohja propelled a garland of insults, trying from her suspended place to convince Tostausu to leave Joe be. If the warlord was looking to get laid, she’d take that burden. “Joe!”

Tears pricked at Joe’s lower lids. “Sohja. . .”

Counts of four, lyrics, music, the self-broadcast sound elevated to a new level. Joe buried himself in the song. Only then could he drown out Sohja’s cries and buffer against the Vulcan zombie.

“I claim you as the property of the Zek Neshkurgatt!” Tostausu got hold of Joe’s clothes and snatched the human in close enough to where the bloody socket from a missing tooth was plainly visible. “And using you, the mair-rigolauya is mine.”

(Do what you must, Mr. Bergman.) Two voices, layered together, gave him blanket permission to finish out his chosen role as The Distraction. The two veterans of the Artifacts of Malice brigade were hanging in the shadows. Joe wordlessly thanked Sarek and T’Lal, knowing she’d do the best to buffer the ambassador against the demise of his human pacemaker. The elder statesman would rather let his heart explode than pass up a chance to save others.

 _Order of the Black Skull, Bone Shard the Executioner, you’ve made a fatal error_. Joe’s thought was like a reminder note to point out some simple, forgetful task. _All I have to do is keep you happy and occupied until the heavy artillery appears._

Joe consciously morphed his body language, replacing apprehension with a sort of sexually charged response to Tostausu’s overture. He took the initiative, got one hand on the monster’s cheek, leaned in, and gave a tantalizing almost-kiss, only stopping because Tostausu was not expecting a response of this magnitude. A whisper in the creature’s ear, “Don’t look so shocked.”

He ran his tongue up the cartilage of the villain’s ear. “I know this is what you want.”

Beguiled, Tostausu let Joe leave kisses on what was exposed of his neck. “What are you?”

Joe sent a hand downward and groped Silvio’s cock through his slick trousers. “ _I’m whatever you want me to be_.”

  
  
  
Mollie, linked into Veddah, was doing what she could to ready him for losing his wife. She’d helped other people when they knew a spouse was not long for this corporeal existence. If only she could do more than neuropsionic bulwarking.

“Kid, this is a just-in-case measure.” Hoskins ran the tricorder probe around Veddah’s head and showed Mollie the reading. “Mollie’s making sure your brain is somewhat ready for the shock. That does not mean I’m saying Laura’s going to die in the near future.”

“This is a pre-emptive modulation of the electrical impulses of your brain fluctuating upon the dissolution of your bond.” Mollie said. “I’m also setting you up for a far less radical neurochemical shift, if it happens, Veddah. She’s more stable now than when she was awake and trying to ram her fist into my face.”

“Remember what I told you earlier.” The vet made Veddah acknowledge him. “You’re not allowed to become another me. Don’t let the pain eat you alive. . .”

“Yes, Dr. Hoskins.” Veddah was checking out, trying to claw his way back into Laura’s mind, desperate to stay there for as long as she had left.

Out from the cockpit, Morgana pulled off the communications headset. “I’ve been able to catch snippets from law enforcement dispatches and it’s not good news. How soon can we wake the captain?”

“It’s inadvisable to rouse her at all.” Mollie offered her professional opinion. Hoskins nodded to back up her claim.

“A parade of clueless police and soldiers are on the way to this location, double-time. When they see the carnage out there and realize that those piles of wreckage and gore are all from their side, we’re fucked. If I can get Laura’s biometrics, we can at least have cover from Sweetness while we’re breaking out of the atmosphere. Maybe we’ll have some luck and Dobbs will let his rivalry with Captain Mbele distract Woebegone once we’re up there.” The pilot didn’t want to disturb her boss.

“Let’s try this before having to shoot her full of something else.” Hoskins produced a tiny glass bottle. “Smelling salts, they’ve been in use for centuries.”

  
  
  
Buffalo Bill instinctively ducked as a dead body pitched toward her snag pile. The person splashed down into a frothy runoff about six meters up the hill. No time to spare emotion for whoever it was, feeling a stab of shame about having to ignore someone, she had to concentrate on excising the offending ferrule from the greater wad of debris.

Deep breath, blocking out the insanity surrounding her, she enveloped herself into Joe’s cowboy song. Skinned knuckles, the branch slick with blood, she leaned and jiggled. Stuck, like the impaled butterflies in a natural history exhibit, she concluded that she wasn’t leaving without either amputating her leg or doing what every first-aid course railed against: She would have to run her thigh back up the branch and hope it hadn’t damaged her femoral artery.

Contemplation of how to do this was disturbed by two things. First, she was losing the feeling and use of the foot on her trapped leg. Second, the cadaver just up the hill started coughing.

  
  
  
Her throat feeling like she’d made a meal of fiberglass, Sohja gave another bellow demanding Joe leave the area. He ignored her and carried on with whatever craziness he’d formulated. Tostausu kept calling him something and she didn’t know what it was, but the context of it coming from this creature meant it was bad news for her human.

Depleted, she made her final effort at a psionic intervention. She found Joe, the connection still solid, and didn’t have the mental energy to pry his attention off Tostausu. Frustration, anger, she caved to the balm of the immediate sensation of emotional expression. No time, place, or way to follow her Vulcan conditioning to meditate or out-think such distasteful behavior, Sohja took advantage of the bizarre satisfaction catering to her brain’s reward centers.

She’d hound Tostausu through Joe, venting bile and disgust at her captor. In a mimic of what she was seeing in Silvio’s body, she decided to alternate which one of those sick assholes she was calling out. One or both of them would snap, allowing Sarek and T’Lal a margin to sneak in and neutralize this Vohr, the hideous joining of human and Vulcan psychopaths.

This new idea, not guaranteed to work due to the distance between Joe and Tostausu shifted gears when the warlord got in close enough to touch her t’hy’la. Sohja launched her tirade. (You are a useless, brainless, stupid fuck. All you will find on T’Khasi are the people at peace with themselves and others. Too fucking late, Executioner, you are too fucking late and too fucking cowardly to reassume leadership. You are a shadow, a piece of shit not quite scraped off the shoe of Vulcan history, a weak pointless less-than-man. Look at you, forced to use a borrowed cock to stir your desires!)

Not knowing if Tostausu heard a single word, she moved to taunt what was left of Silvio. One line into describing how pathetic he was, one or both of the personalities in the human body below had had entirely enough of her.

  
  
  
Mollie hauled ass, didn’t think about slip and falls, she picked herself back up and ran. She knew the medication Hoskins sent with her would only be moderately effective. Joe, the same drug on board, was more useful, but as with Veddah, there was a contingency. She didn’t plan on Joe dying, none of them did, however, it was cognitive dissonance to believe that her friend would come out of this unscathed when the bleak truth was that he might not make it home.

She’d made good time, getting to Sarek’s locus, just as the tally of who would live and who would die shifted yet again. She and the ambassador could only watch, helpless, when Tostausu let go of Sohja.

This Tinkerbell couldn’t fly away in a cloud of glittery pixie dust. . .

  
  
  
“You are not a psion, but she is in you.” Bone Shard raked his teeth along Joe’s lower jaw. “Can you hear her?”

The truth: Sohja was no longer making physical words and the ones flowing from her mind weren’t for Joe. He continued to flatter, “All I hear is you, My Lord.”

“I’m tired of that traitorous woman.” Tostausu hummed a few bars of _El Paso City_.

Joe crushed back his emotions and didn’t rebut the Executioner. Their mouths locked, tongues lashed, they came up for air.

“ _Somewhere in my deepest thoughts familiar scenes and memories unfold_.” Tostausu grew a lustful grin.

Joe smiled back, playing to this creature’s desire.

“You’re in love with that cunt.” Silvio bled through. “Enough of that bullshit.”

“Enough?” Joe registered the sound of a zipper and let himself sink to his knees.

“She’s not a part of your fucking life my fellow human, not anymore.” Silvio had some high expectations for what Joe could do. Giving up on Sohja was not a viable option.

“Klai’saul-tor—” Tostausu hissed. “ _I get the feeling sometime in another world I lived in El Paso_.”

The Executioner, when he was the winner in the Silvio-body tug-of-war, could force its brain to create some of the connections for an invasive meld. There was no finesse to this forced conjunction, just a growing pressure beneath Joe’s temporal bones.

“Oh, it’s been so long since. . .” Confidence in his choke-hold over the geyser plain and the remaining people scattered on it, Tostausu granted himself a treat. “. . . when I’m fucking you, slave, that will create a powerful joining, my mind latched into yours. . . _Could I be the cowboy in the mystery that died there in that desert sand_. . .”

Staying engaged in offering pleasure to continue distracting, Joe let the beast have another grope of his crotch.

Reminders to not break character as an erect penis breached his lips, it was a testament to his dramatic abilities that he didn’t scream, didn’t bite, and didn’t give any outward reaction when his t’hy’la dropped from the sky.


End file.
